Keeping Courageous & Carrying On
by bellax-xmuerte
Summary: Blaine's father is abusive but he refuses to be brought down by it all. He knows that one day he's going to make something of his life. He can cope as long as he believes in himself. Angst. Blaine centric. Warnings: Abuse, Violence, Alcoholism, PTSD.
1. Chapter 1

**Author: b**ellax-xmuerte LJ & FF

& nataliescourageclub tumblr

**Rating (overall):** NC-17

**Pairings:** Pre Blaine/Kurt, Blaine centric.

**Spoilers:** Aired episodes.

**Warnings:** Abuse, Violence, Alcoholism, PTSD.

**Summary:** Blaine's father is abusive but he refuses to be brought down by it all. He knows that one day he's going to make something of his life. He can cope as long as he believes in himself.

o~0~o

I'm only half paying attention to Kurt when he touches my arm. Reaching carefully across the small café table to get to me. He's staring at me with those ridiculously gorgeous eyes and I feel like a monster for drifting off. I wouldn't usually zone out on him, you understand, but I have a splitting headache today and blocking the world out is becoming increasingly necessary.

"Sorry, Kurt?" I say earnestly, hoping he'll just repeat what he said and I can start letting his voice back into my head. He makes a mildly dejected sound and rolls his eyes, like I might have heard him the first time and I just want him to repeat what I missed out of narcissism. Which, I'd like to point out, could never be true; I can't even handle a compliment.

"I _said_, I don't know what I'd do without you." He's got one of those little smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth. The small things make me happy. He taps my arm affectionately and then briefly runs his fingers over the base of my wrist before he pulls his hands back to his side of the table. I start fiddling with the cup in front of me, flicking it and watching as the liquid ripples. It's a storm in a teacup.

"I'm honestly not that amazing, Kurt. I'm sure you'd be just fine." I respond honestly;  
>he always does this, tells me that he admires me, my strength, my certainty, my honesty. It makes me feel overwhelmingly guilty. The façade that I insist on maintaining with him is extremely painful. It hurts me, that he thinks I'm such a rock, that I give him strength. I couldn't tell him the truth now. It's too late, he trusts me too much, it'd ruin everything.<p>

"I wouldn't be just fine, Mr Modest. Who'd I coerce into cleaning Pavarotti's cage out for me?" Kurt lets a small laugh burst past his lips and he checks his watch, it's getting late but I don't want to go home, I never want to go home. I hate it. I hate it so much but nowhere near as much as I hate pretending to Kurt that everything is perfect there. Pretending that under this school uniform I don't have a host of blue and purple boot marks on my chest- like someone's been dancing on my ribs. Or stamping on my body.

"We should probably head home." I offer remorsefully, I could sit here until closing time talking to him, watching him, loving him. It takes Kurt about an hour longer to drive home than it takes for me to walk to my house from here, I always insist that he heads home early. I'm not entirely content with the idea of him driving in the dark for such a long time. Not after my mom…

"I have to pick Finn up on my way home anyway. Plus, I'm pretty sure he's going to ask me to drop Noah home so that'll take an extra forty minutes. It's like they don't care about my strict beauty regime." I watch as he shakes his head in disbelief, like he expected Finn to genuinely care about his complexion. I smile; it sounds so Kurt.

"His car is still at the garage?" It's been gone for a week and Kurt's been chauffeuring his new brother around like nobody's business. It's a little suspicious, especially since it's Burt who's fixing his car.

"I think my Dad's doing it on purpose. For the sake of bonding or something." Kurt speculates, lifting the cup in front of him to his mouth. He takes a final sip and sighs with resignation.

"Let's get out of here." I say, offering him a smile as we stand and walk toward the exit. He runs a quick hand through his hair, pulls open the door and struts outside. He's so confident these days. It's beautiful; it's inspiring.

"You'll phone me later, let me know you got home?" He asks and I marvel at his concern, I only have to walk just outside of town. Kurt pats himself down, checking his phone hasn't slipped out of his pocket and then he smiles at me hopefully. He seems so happy, I don't even have to look for hidden meanings in his words. He has such a great family. A wonderful father. It blows me away. I'm not jealous- it's just the way these things are.

"Of course I'll phone." I reply. Knowing that talking to him keeps me sane, keeps me focused, helps me keep my eye on the ball. I am better than this town. I am better than that house. I am better than my father.

"Okay then." he says, opening his arms to me, waiting for a hug.

It takes me about two seconds to be holding him and rubbing his back. He does the same to me but his touch is absurdly gentle and I'm grateful. My back still hurts from my 'fall' down the stairs last week. Of course, he doesn't know about any of that but I'm still thankful for his tenderness.

"Bye, Kurt." I whisper and he pulls away.

"We'll talk later." He confirms and he starts to walk off. I stand outside the café, watching him until he vanishes into his car and he pulls away. 

o~0~o

The house stinks when I get home, it reeks. It smells like a mix of beer, vomit, piss and those horrible cigars my father insists on smoking indoors. The curtains are closed and there's stuff everywhere. I know I didn't leave it like that, I definitely cleaned this mess up before I went to school. I remember scrubbing blood stains off the floor.

"Hey, Faggot?" My _lovely_ father bellows from the kitchen. Either his hearing is improving or he's starting to wait for me to get home. I leave my bag at the foot of the stairs and walk onwards to the kitchen. I'm not afraid of him. I'm bigger than this. I have to be. When I finish school I'm packing my bags, gathering my instruments and ditching town. Until then I'm here, there's no way I can afford the Dalton fees otherwise and my father is stupid enough to not notice that the payments still come out of his bank account every term.

When I get into the kitchen he's a sight for sore eyes. He's slumped over our original marble countertops with a bottle of, what appears to be, vodka in his hand. The disgusting aroma of urine stronger than ever; it's obvious he's pissed himself again.

It's repulsive the way he can shamelessly present himself like this to me. The way he tries to beat me down with his words and his fists whilst covered in his own filth. I'm glad my mother isn't alive to see what he's become, how the business he worked so damn hard for is slowly failing apart and what he puts me through.

"What is it?" I ask and I try not to sound icy but it doesn't help. He turns his head to me and snarls. He's like a wild animal- primitive and stupid.

"Clean the house." He orders dismissively - like I'm a battered housewife who'll do anything for him. I won't. Yes, I do clean his mess up, but not for him, I do it because I can't stand the idea that if my mom is watching over me all she sees is this pig sty and her senseless husband.

"No. I've got homework for school." I say, trying to be non-confrontational. I don't have a death wish, I don't pick fights, I don't like shouting.

"I said clean the fucking house!" He screams, spittle flying from his lips and making me feel sick. My head pounds and my heart starts to race.

"And I said no." I say rather boldly, I can feel my pulse now, my temples are thumping.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that! You fucking faggot!" He erupts as he stumbles to his feet, kicking a bottle that lay on the floor across the room. It shatters into little pieces and I'll prioritise that in my clean up tomorrow- provided there's no blood to remove.

He staggers forwards and I start retreating as he swings out at me, trying to grab my blazer. I want to turn and run, I do, but the last time I turned my back on him he hit me over the head and knocked me unconscious.

"I'll teach you some manners! You ungrateful little shit." _Manners_, I think, looking down at his soiled trousers. When did it become socially acceptable to walk around like that. Never. Never ev-

It's then that he catches me. His claw like fingers digging into my shoulders as he throws me into the wall. My head flings backwards and slams off the brick, an explosion of light bursting before my eyes as his hands get impossibly tighter. He's leaving bruises on bruises now and a tiny whimper escapes my lips. I hope he can't hear it. I hope he doesn't get the satisfaction. My head feels fuzzy.

"You march into this house-" he spits viciously and his breath is absolutely noxious, "You think you're so much smarter than me!"

He moves one of his hands to my throat and he pushes me into the wall, my neck starts to burn and I can barely breathe. I'm gulping and trying to swallow but I can't. The pressure is building in my head and he's shaking me and shaking me and suddenly I know that I'm crying. I'm crying because it hurts, because this could be the end. I think of Kurt. The world goes away. 

o~0~o


	2. Chapter 2

o~0~o

I wake up in the hallway when my father slams the front door and I'm gasping, I'm gasping and my whole body is shaking. I thought I was dead, I thought it was over. I turn my head, with a huge amount of effort, and catch sight of the clock on the wall. I only walked through the door fifteen minutes ago.

I'm supposed to phone Kurt tonight but I don't know how much longer I can stay awake for. I feel so tired, I could just drift off into a dream world, a world where I'm not lying beaten and abandoned on the floor.

I should phone him now, while I still can, but I don't trust my voice at the moment because my neck is throbbing and I don't want to distract him while he's driving. So, I out of safety, I decide to send him a text message. I extend a shaky hand into my pocket and pull out my phone. I bring up Kurt's last message and hit reply.

I don't know what to say to him and I feel like I'm letting him down by not talking to him in person but I can't think of another solution. I could phone his house but I'm pretty sure Finn's Mom and Kurt's Dad are still at work and Finn is probably waiting with Noah outside McKinley for Kurt to pick them up. And I can't leave a message, not when I have no idea what to say or if my voice will even work. It _has_ to be a text message.

_HEY, KURT!_ I start, lifting the phone above my face so I can supervise the predictive text function. The message has to make sense, I don't want to make him think I was too busy to spell his name right.

_I CAN'T PHONE YOU LATER,_ I continue and I feel that it's important to get to the point. Though, I struggle to think of what to say next because my head is washed in waves of discomfort and more importantly because I hate lying to Kurt. In fact, I down right despise it.

Eventually, I settle on _I'M TIED UP WITH FAMILY STUFF._ I choose those words because it's the truth but at the same time it doesn't sound as sinister as it probably should.

Guilt still rushes through me regardless and I feel like I need to apologise to him for bailing on our nightly discussion but I don't know what else to do and my eyes are starting to flicker.

I type out the last part as fast as I physically can: _I'M SORRY, I'LL SPEAK TO YOU AT SCHOOL TOMORROW. B. X_

I quickly read over my message before I press send and my hand falls to the floor.

I close my eyes and fall asleep. 

o~0~o

Fresh sunlight is coating my face, I'm still in the hall and I'm still in a lot of pain. But I have to get up, I have to move and so I cautiously drag myself on to my knees before I stand on unsteady feet. I'm practically clinging to the wall as I straighten myself up. My body is tolerable for the most part- my shoulders are killing me, my head is pounding, my neck is burning but the rest of me is okay. It's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay. Breathe, Blaine. You're okay. _Breathe._ You're still alive.

I compose myself and turn my entire body around so I can look at the clock; I'm doing this because I can't move my neck without jolts of pain pulsing through it. It feels like I'm being choked all over again, I can almost feel his hands on me for a second time. I focus my eyes on the clock's hands instead. It tells me what I need to know- it's six in the morning. I have two hours until I need to leave for school. I have the time. I have the time to clean the house. I have the time to take a shower. I have the time to look over my homework. I have the time to calm myself a little.

I rotate once more and glance at the wallpaper, searching for the spot where my skull collided with it, it doesn't surprise me when I find small red spatters dashed across the green. I lift a hand to the back of my head and my fingers meet dry blood. I should have time to clean that too. _Breathe_. Focus. I'm better than this. I'm bigger than all of this. Stay _calm._

I start by taking my uniform off and bundling it up before I move it to the laundry room. It takes me longer than I'd like to admit but eventually I do get there and that's what matters. When I walk into the kitchen, wearing nothing but my underpants, the gentle sunshine warms my skin. My body tingling slightly. It's then that I remember the smashed bottle, the light illuminating it through the window.

I bend down carefully and pick up every single insignificant shard I can find; like I do it everyday- which isn't too far removed from reality. Though, as I pick up the final splinters of glass I can't help but wonder if people can smash apart like that too. Can they just burst apart and be beyond repair?

When I've ghosted my fingers over the floor, enough times to believe that all the glass is gone, I walk over to the sink and wet the light blue dishcloth that lies in waiting. I add the tiniest amount of soap before I walk slowly back into the hallway and begin removing my own blood, easing the stains out with neat, circular motions. I hope my Mom is pleased with the job I've done. After it's done with I commence with the general cleanup and by the time that's done with a whole hour has past.

I pick up my school bag as I head up the stairs, I'm about to throw it over my shoulder and then I change my mind, I realise that it'll hurt, and it just kind of bounces off my thigh. The stairs feel like a mountain.

When I get to my room I dump the bag on my bed and start rooting through it for my homework. I'm supposed to have a completed essay plan for my Classics class this morning, so that's what I'll have. When I eventually find it, sandwiched between a few pieces of paper covered in swirling notes, I lay the paper carefully on my desk. Collecting the stray pages of music that litter my room I delicately lay them on top of a tower of school textbooks.

Music is very important to me. Making music is important to me. Making music that touches people is very important to me. Humility is very important to me. My friends are very important to me. Kurt is very important to me. For all the weaknesses life presents me with those things are my strength. They make me believe in myself and the world. They give me courage. So much courage.

I sit down at my desk and pull a sharpened pencil from my pen pot, I move it to the paper but I can't do it, I can't start. I don't have the time to sit here hoping it'll happen; so I decide to take a shower first. I peer around my door and creep across the landing, even though I know that my father's probably still out, just in case he's not out though I need to be careful. I won't have enough time to clean myself up again if something happens. I can't afford to have another day off school because I got caught too close to leaving. It's happened three times this term and that's enough.

I run the shower, throw my underwear in the wash basket and step under the water. It's invigorating- I wash away the grime, the blood and the bad feelings that I have in my chest.

By the time eight o'clock arrives I'm heading out of the door, my homework completed and in my bag and my bag strategically placed over my shoulder. I breathe in the crisp morning air and it makes me smile, not only do I have an excuse to wear my scarf today but I can taste liberty. It's so remarkable and watching the lives and energies of those I pass in the street fills me with such a sense of joy I have to fight off forming tears. Life is overwhelmingly beautiful today. Life could be so _beautiful._

o~0~o

My confidence grows as I edge closer to Dalton Academy and I begin to feel much more like myself. I start passing the same people that I pass everyday and they all smile at me, some of them even say hello and those who do also wish me well. It's oddly overpowering that so many strangers know me, that so many strangers care. I wonder if they know how valuable they are to me; it feels incredibly profound.

It's then that I notice Mrs. Hiller sitting serenely at the bus stop, trusty handbag in arms. I walk towards her without hesitation and take a seat next to her. She's so glamorous, so beautiful, regardless of her old age and she always smells divine. Like a mix of home baking and sweet perfumes. Homely and exotic.

"Good morning Mrs. Hiller." I chime softly, leaning into her with care and bumping our shoulders lightly together. She jumps a little before she smiles at me and reaches out a slightly frail looking hand- patting my thigh.

"Blaine, dear! Always so nice to see you!" She beams and part of me can't help but be reminded of my mother. I don't remember much of her but I do remember feeling like this. Feeling loved.

"And on such a nice day." I reply, once again sucking in the crisp air. My voice wavers slightly but thankful talking doesn't seem to hurt my throat or my neck too much. It's going to be fine. It _is _okay.

"I'll get you a soother for that sore throat." Mrs. Hiller offers, her fingers ready to dart into her handbag. I reach out to stop her, I want to tell her that my throat isn't the worst of it. I want to show her the purple marks on my neck but I don't.

Part of me needs to tell her so that maybe she'll help me, so that maybe things will ease up a little. Part of me needs to keep quiet because I can do this by myself. This is temporary and getting her so worried, at her age, wouldn't be ideal. I don't want to hurt her or see her upset over me and she would be. She'd be broken hearted, just like I would be if she had bruises, of if Kurt had bruises or if any of the strangers that walked past me this morning had dirty purple and blue marks on their skin.

"No, thank you, I'm fine Mrs. Hiller, I have soothers in my bag. How are you today?" I ask, smiling at her fondly. Hoping the conversation will move on and it does. Her hands settle back on top of her bag and she's looking me over again.

"I'm as good as I can be." she smiles, "Good as it gets."

"I'm so glad. You're my favourite elderly lady, you know?" I offer and a tiny chuckle escapes her. Like she hasn't laughed in a while. I'm touched that I made it happen. I'm full of pride.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, dear." She meets my eyes with a grin and even though her eyes are fading they're still so bright. I want to touch her face, I want to see if I can absorb her optimism and love through my fingertips.

"I'm working on a new song." I report, "It's for you."

"Oh, Blaine. I'd be so honoured, dear." She confesses, her hand moving to cover mine. I think that this is another one of the beautiful things about the world. Every touch like her's tries to erase the heavy handedness of people like my father.

I'm about to awkwardly accept her compliment when I notice that her bus has emerged at the top of the road. I move my free hand on to the hand that holds mine, in a bid to get her attention and because I feel safe and able to. I don't get many opportunities in my life to show my affection physically. I wish I had more, I really do. It helps me to be happy.

"Your bus is coming, Mrs. Hiller." I say eventually, knowing that it takes her a while to stand and gather herself.

"You're such a good boy." She says and I help her to stand. We walk arm in arm to the curb and she seems so tiny in stature compared to me, in fact, compared to most people.

I wait until the bus pulls up, until she climbs onboard and is seated before I begin walking the final two blocks to Dalton.

I hope that I will be happy today amongst my friends. I hope the breeze lingers so I can stay wrapped in my scarf. 

o~0~o


	3. Chapter 3

o~0~o

When I close in on the car park I notice that Kurt is waiting for me. Even in a uniform he manages to stand out and I wonder if this is because he's simply carries himself differently from the others or because I want to notice him more than the others. I'm not sure I particularly mind either way but my heart wants it to be the latter.

Instinctively, I start fiddling with my scarf before I notice and I make myself stop. I can't keep doing that, I don't need to implicate anybody. I don't need to be 'that kid from school who has a terrible home life.' I can be somebody some day. I can. I know I can because I know that I have a talent and I know that every person worth remembering faced obstacles and challenges and setbacks. Nobody ever fell into success.

When Kurt catches sight of me he's sauntering over in a flash. He instantly moves to link his arm through mine- not bothering to seek the permission he knows that I'll give him no matter what. He's all smiles this morning and he's got that little skip in his step- the one he developed after escaping his meat-headed persecutor and discovering safety amongst our walls. It makes me smile, he's so happy these days, on top of the world even. It's utterly charming. _He's _utterly charming.

"So, Blaine" he chimes without warning, "I missed talking to you last night." I frown a little but I'm not entirely sure why. Something about the way he said that sentence makes me uneasy. Maybe it's the guilt of lying to him, maybe it's the part of me that has to keep my mouth shut.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt-" I start but he brings us to a halt just inside the foyer. Stopping my legs, my mouth and my brain in the process. Maybe I sounded over apologetic and he's going to scrutinise me. I want to kick myself, except I don't because I know how much it hurts. Don't panic, I tell myself, it's _Kurt,_ he's not about to jump down my throat. He likes me. He's my friend. He hugs me, he tells me that he loves me, he misses me. He _misses me,_ I think, and suddenly I only have one thought in my head- if I ever go missing he'll look for me. If I never get up off the floor he'll come and look for me because he cares. He'll call me an ambulance, or the police or the coroner. Because he actually, truly cares. Emotion surges through me and I cling to his arm a little.

"No, it's okay. Don't apologise." he quickly says, followed by, "I know how family can be. I just missed unloading my drama on you. Are you- are you okay?" He's looking at me with curiosity, he's brows knitting in inquisitive confusion.

"I'm fine. I just have a bit of a headache." I offer, hoping that it'll be enough for him. Hoping I can keep the image of him finding my cold, battered body out of my head.

"Oh. Do you need to see the nurse?" He asks and I wonder how strange a face I must have pulled for him to ask that.

"No, I don't think so." I say as casually as I can, the last thing I want to do in the world is see the nurse.

"Good. The thought of you in pain all day makes me unhappy." I almost flinch as he says that and I'm glad he took that moment to look down so he could grab my hand.

I feel terrible now because I'm in so much pain everyday and here Kurt is confirming what I've thought all along. People knowing about my pain would upset them. I don't want to upset anyone, not ever. No one will cry over me, this is temporary. One day there will be nothing for me but free air and hope. I just have to believe.

Kurt's still got my hand in his when he softly pulls me back into walking. It's okay now. He starts talking about Finn and how he thinks he's a closet case and I smile. He's so beautifully distracting, he shifts my focus. He's had this theory for a while, he thinks it's very unnatural for two football players like Finn and Noah to have so many 'man dates' without there being an ulterior motive. I suggested that maybe they were just very good friends once and Kurt shot me down with glares all day. Now I just say placating things, like 'Totally' and 'Oh definitely', to which he nods frantically in agreement. It's adorable in a way and who knows, he could be right. It would be paradoxical for me to judge them for being gay. Only Finn and Noah know for sure.

"So, Noah stopped over rather out-of-the-blue last night and guess what they watched?" He continues and I'm thinking to myself of all the films in the world how am I supposed to know?

"Terminator?" I guess and there is reasoning behind it. On the numerous occasions I've had the pleasure of talking to Finn he's dropped a Terminator reference on at least half of them.

"Nope. Think_ gayer_." Kurt offers as we walk into the common room, still hand in hand. Not a single student looks at us with repulsion or disgust and I wonder what the world would be like if it was all like this. A shooting pain rips through my neck and I have to grit my teeth to overcome it.

"Iron Man?" I guess, my voice wobbling a little, thinking it's gayer than Terminator but equally as 'manly'. I could see them both enjoying that.

"Even gayer than Robert Downey Jr." he says and he's laughing now and so am I. In this moment I'm happy, in this moment I'm content.

"Finding Nemo?" That has to be a good guess, I think. He shakes his head and we take seats at either side of a small table.

"Nope. They were watching, wait for it… Priscilla Queen of The Desert." a laugh bursts from him and he slaps his hand over his mouth and tries to force the noise back down.

"No way. That is gay. Like, literally gay. It's a good film though with a load of truly awesome songs. So, maybe they just-" Kurt holds a hand out to me.

"Don't you dare contradict this evidence, Mr Anderson!" He says pretending to be serious. I hold my hands up apologetically and he relaxes into a smile. I smile back.

"That scarf is great, by the way." He says suddenly and I wonder how long he's been looking at it and my pulse begins to race. 

o~0~o

I think that sometimes your friends can be your family, and even though mine don't know that anything is wrong, I feel like they've been rallying around me all day. Wes has been checking on my sore throat and my flu symptoms since he locked eyes on me at eight fifty. Trying desperately hard to meet my every need, he's all questions and soft fingers and I wonder how I found myself in such a lovely place.

Kurt, of course, hasn't left my side for longer than necessary, in the classes we don't share he's been sending me supportive texts. They range from a concerned_ 'How's the head?'_ to an optimistic_ 'Wes says you're looking better' _and the latest and more mysterious _'I have some amazing news!'._

David has been more than a star, in all honesty his generosity has blown me away, he has, thus far, backed me up in every single class I've been into. He's been right beside me as I've tried to explain to every teacher that I feel ill and wearing my scarf is the only thing that is keeping me warm. Most of them seem to buy it because I've never lied to them or done anything less than what they've expected from me. A few of them are suspicious of it but David does incredibly well academically and isn't the kind of kid to make up stories, so they all let it slide, for today. I'm seriously going to have to develop a new solution though, I can't wear this all the time, the woollen blend is making my irritated skin all the more irritated. It feels slightly counterproductive, like hiding your own homework so you don't have to do it and then having to rush through it last minute.

Before I know it, I'm practically asleep in the common room and it's the last lesson of the day, I have a study period and I'm all alone now that Nick, Thad and Jeff have gone to the library. Of course, I could have gone with them but I don't need any books and the journey just for the journey isn't as appealing as staying in this comfy chair and snuggling into the arm.

I'm practically drooling on myself when I wake up to Kurt whispering my name and tapping my forearm.

"Wake up, Mr. Sleepy." he says as my eyes open and they adjust to the daylight.

"Hey, Kurt." I say and my throat is a little hoarse, I don't know if that's because of the bruising or the sleeping but Kurt doesn't bat an eyelid.

"Blaine, I have some wonderful news!" He shouts in a hushed voice and I suddenly remember the text he sent me.

"What is it?" I ask, hoping he'll just spit it out.

"My dad smashed my favourite vase today!" My brow furrows, I can't really see how that would be wonderful news and I wonder if the news of the broken vase has in fact broken Kurt. He look startlingly ecstatic.

"That's a good thing? Aren't you upset?" I ask, sitting straighter in the chair and looking up at him, searching his face. He doesn't look sad at all, he looks cheerful. I'm ever so slightly bewildered by it all.

"Oh, I'm very upset, believe me. _But_ it was spectacular leverage." He beams and I smile a little, trust Kurt to turn an accidental breakage into bribery.

"What did you ask for?" I enquire, leaning towards him, a little.

"You." He smiles quickly and my expression must match the confusion that's rife in my head.

"You're coming to dinner tonight!" He practically screeches and I'm very happy about it, I am, Kurt's been trying to get Burt to agree to this for ages but at the same time I'm thinking about all the marks on my skin and how imperfect I'd be at his kitchen table. What if I'm not good enough and Burt hates me, I've met him a few times and he was lovely but dinner takes more than a few random minutes? What if I mess up or they see my body or I say something awful by accident, would they force Kurt to stop being my friend because I come with too much baggage?

I have to stop my own thoughts, I'm being ridiculous. It'll be fine, I'll be fine. Kurt's family- old and new- are full of love. It's going to be okay. _Breathe._

"That sounds amazing." I offer eventually, as I smile at him fondly. He bends down awkwardly over the chair that I'm sitting in, to give me another of his gentle hugs. I feel an explosion of love burst through me.

"I'm so happy that you're okay with this. I just thought that since-" he starts nervously and I don't like to see that in him. Not at all. I'm glad that Kurt's still hugging me, or I'm hugging him, or we're both just hugging each other.

"Kurt," I interrupt, "Don't worry about it. I finally get to sample Carole's infamous food and I get to spend more time with you." He offers me a thankful smile and we spend the rest of the day talking about whatever inserts itself into our heads and it's so natural, so organic, that my heart pounds. 

o~0~o

Kurt is coming to pick me up in a hour and I still haven't been home yet, and I still haven't told my father, instead I've been standing in a cosmetics shop in awe of the sheer volume of products available to cover blemishes. Not only do they come in thousands of colours they also come in hundreds of textures and I'm struggling to find one that matches my skin tone.

I've got smears of all different kinds on the back of my hand- a technique I picked up off a woman who came and went half an hour ago- but it's not really helping. Part of me is embarrassed that a sales assistant might approach me any second now and another part of me hopes that they would because I'm not getting anywhere, at all.

I'm about to just give up when a girl around my age approaches me, I've seen her around a couple of times but I don't know who she is. As she gets closer I can see the school logo, _Crawford Country Day._ I almost sigh in relief at the helpful expression she holds.

"You look a little baffled." She says and she has such a soft, floating voice that I almost do a double take.

"If you could help me I'd really, really appreciate it?" I say and she smiles.

"That's why I'm here. I saw you through the window." She offers and I'm suddenly very grateful. Going to a school that has a sister school is starting to pay off.

"I'm going to my friend's house in an hour," I begin, wondering if this is too much information but feeling the need to explain myself anyway, "I want to be comfortable and I have this scar I'd like to cover." She just nods and starts reaching out to the tubs and tubes on the shelves.

It's only a half-lie and so I don't feel too guilty. Anyway, I think to myself, I couldn't have told her the whole truth, I couldn't have said: _'My father strangled me last night and I have these horrible purple finger-shaped bruises all over my neck. I just want to hide them from my friend and his family. I'm sure he could kill me one day but I'm trying to stay strong because one day I'm going to be somebody. And one day it won't hurt. Can you help me?' _

I watch her pick up tens of different solutions and I can tell that, unlike me, she knows what she's doing. Maybe all girls do, maybe they're born to do this or maybe it's something they learn on shopping trips with their mothers. I watch as she simultaneously frowns and smiles. She's quite beautiful.

"Not quite." she says to herself and I can't help but think that 'not quite' is a lot closer than where I was and she's only been here for a few minutes.

I suddenly feel bad that I don't know her name, my helpful stranger.

"I'm Blaine, by the way." I offer and she nods as she holds a succession of little containers next to my face.

"I'm Abigail." she reveals as she picks up yet another powder.

"Hey, Abigail." I say because I want to be nice to girl who's doing me such a huge favour. Plus, I've never known an Abigail and I want to see how her name sounds coming out of my mouth. It sounds as wonderful as she seems to be. Her humility amazes me and I decide on the spot that she is another beautiful thing about the world.

"I think this is the one." she says, opening up the tester pot and rubbing a tiny bit on my unmarred hand. It blends in like a charm and I am in awe of the tiny girl that stands in front of me. _Thank you, thank you, thank you._ I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. My lungs can fill that little bit fuller. Tonight could be enjoyable now, it could be illuminating and perfect and inspiring.

"Thank you so much." I say sincerely and she gets me a fresh container from the shelf. Handing it over.

"It was a pleasure." she assures, before she re-settles her bag on her shoulder, wishes me well and vanishes out of the shop. I pay for the elusive powder and walk home as fast as I can. I need to get the confrontation over with and I need to get dressed. But what am I going to tell my father?

If I tell him I'm going to a boy's house he'll call me a faggot. If I tell him I'm having dinner at a friend's house, he'll call me ungrateful. If I don't tell him at all he could kill me when I get home. He wouldn't even think twice about it. He didn't think twice about it when he choked me and smashed my head into the wall yesterday. Today wouldn't be any different. I'm not a fool, people are quick to tell you that _it gets better _but I have no reason to believe that. There's not a single reason to believe my father will ever be anything but cruel and ignorant and repulsive.

I cling to the concealer in my pocket, I hope it's enough. _Please_ let it be enough. 

o~0~o


	4. Chapter 4

o~o~o

I haven't even shut the door when my father calls me into the sitting room by snarling the word 'faggot' in my general direction. I close my eyes as I close the door and I wonder when that vulgar word became the replacement for words like 'Son' and 'Blaine' and 'You' and 'Piece of shit'. It wasn't recently but it still shocks me every time it rushes out of his mouth so carelessly. I wonder if he knows about the other meanings of that word, like 'bundle of sticks' and 'a type of meatball' but I doubt it. To him 'faggot' is a derogatory term for people like me, for people like Kurt.

I walk into the sitting room and he looks a little more sober than last night, though only a little. He's managed to change his clothes and at least he hasn't pissed himself yet or vomited all over his shirt. I have to be thankful for that, even though it's the type of progress I know is fleeting and sporadically inclined. I'd laugh at the situation but I can't because just looking at him makes my body ache. I know what he can do to me and what he has done. There's not a single funny thing about it.

"I'm going out soon." I say carefully, making sure that I'm standing under the door frame when the words leave my mouth. I need to make sure that the front door is closer to me than he is. I won't let him ruin tonight for me, not when he's ruined so many other things. So many other nights. So many days.

"To fag school?" he slurs as defeat and disappointment settle harshly in my chest. He's drunker than I thought he was. He thinks that it's first thing in the morning when I know for a fact that the sun is about to set. I need to be careful, I need to stay back. I don't have time for this, not now.

"School finished two hours ago." I say purposefully, before losing my confidence halfway and whispering, "I'm going to a- a friend's house, that's all." He's so unpredictable that it scares me. I'm frightened of him, I know I am and I know there's not a thing in the world I can do about it. I just have to keep myself focused, I just have to remember that this isn't forever. One day I'll look back on this situation and I'll struggle to remember the details.

"You're gonna _fuck_ that _filthy_ boy you talk to!" he shouts and I take a step backwards instinctively. I want to call him out, I want to tell him not to talk about Kurt like that, I want to tell him that he has no idea how _moral_ and caring and grounded Kurt is but I don't. I'd rather see him in person tonight than say what I think, only for my father to come down on me like a ton of bricks.

When I don't say anything his body jerks and my eyes must widen. Please, don't get up, I think, please don't put your hands on me tonight. I need to be perfect. My own hand tightens around the strap of the bag that still hangs over my shoulder and my knuckles turn white. Fear does funny things to you, like draining you of the courage that everyone thinks you hold onto unwaveringly.

"I'm going for dinner, my friend asked me to go." I say and then he does it, he gets to his feet. He's moving much quicker than I thought would be possible, particularly in his state, and he's pointing at me viciously and slurring undeniably hateful, though unintelligible, words. I start ambling backwards again and my brain is screaming at me to_ just turn around_ and _leave_. But I can't. I completely freeze, my legs wont go any further, in any direction, and I'm still too scared to show him my back. I'm a sitting target. I can't even avoid this. I truly can't.

I feel _so_ trapped and _so_ helpless that I just stand still and I wait for him to grab me, maybe this way, with less resistance, it won't hurt quite as much. I feel utterly useless and I know, in this moment, that I would never ever wish this feeling on anybody else, not even my father.

"And why would they want a _faggot_ in their home?" He spits, his breath is wretched and he's shouting again. I don't know why he always has to shout at me. Or why he feel the need to consistently make me feel that little bit smaller. That little bit more useless. It's as if being my age and this defenceless and this belittled and this beaten isn't enough for him. Why does he need to hold so much control over me? Why does he have the ability to shut my body down with a twitch?

"Not everybody is afraid of people like me." I finally answer and I outright refuse to cower to him on this. I have to make myself strong here because if I don't I may never survive this and then all of it, everything, will have been for nothing. I'm getting seriously sick of him throwing the word faggot around and a part of me doesn't care about being so daring anymore because he's not just talking about me. He's talking about mind-blowing people like Kurt and girls who are still searching for themselves like Santana and Brittany, he's hurting people and he's making them scared to be who they truly are. Those terrified, conflicted people like Dave Karofsky. People, who act like my father acts, make people like Karofsky hate themselves more than they already do, then the Karofsky's of our world act out and start hurting others and even themselves and what for, why? Because it's such an aberration to fall in love with someone who just happens to be the same gender? It makes me sick. It makes me sad.

"You should watch your tone, you little shit! This is _my_ house! I'll put you on the fucking streets!" he screams in my face as he shoves me cruelly up the wall, my scarf slipping off my shoulders, it doesn't hurt any less but I am not afraid of him in that moment. I can feel a remarkable jolt of defiance rush through me. I think I feel proud of myself.

"But who would you hurt then, Dad?" I ask as my head spins a little. He seems to stop in his tracks, as if me calling him 'Dad' has thrown him into a tailspin, as if he's suddenly been reminded that, yes, I am his son. He stares at my neck, which makes me very self-conscious, before he storms away from me and into the kitchen. I gather my scarf and escape to my bedroom as quickly and as quietly as I can. The clanking and clunking of bottles resounding around the house. 

o~o~o

By the time I've found myself an outfit, dressed myself and covered my neck in concealer it's time to go and wait outside for Kurt. There is absolutely no way I am letting him knock on our front door, there is no way he is meeting my father or even getting the chance to, it's not safe. I can imagine what he'd say to Kurt, I can imagine the vile, repulsive words he'd use to describe him and the thought alone makes me uneasy and angry. In fact, it downright pisses me off.

I check the time before I put my phone in my jeans' pocket alongside the concealer, I need to take it with me just in case it rubs off. I've never used this stuff before, I don't know how hard or easy it is to wipe it all away. I don't want to be left sitting there, in front of everyone, as bruises start to reappear on my skin.

I look over myself one last time, just to check that I look presentable, before I quietly creep down the stairs and out of the front door, a tiny click the only signal of my leaving. I breathe in the fresh air and I close my eyes. Every time I leave this house my troubles seem a little lighter and the burden a touch easier to carry. I feel like a freed bird but nevertheless a bird on a string because I know that eventually I'll have to go back into my cage.

I barely make it to the end of the path when Kurt pulls up curb side, he flashes his headlights at me and starts waving before he reaches across the passenger seat and pushes the door open.

"Climb aboard." He smiles, shamelessly looking me up and down, I'd probably feel violated if this was anyone but Kurt. He nods his approval as I climb into his car.

"Blaine, you look amazing." He says and he hasn't taken his eyes off me and, if I'm honest with myself, which I do try to be, I'm not sure that I want him to. He doesn't look at me like other people do, there's always that look in his eyes and it's fascinating.

"Never as amazing as you." I counter and he laughs before he starts talking about all of the designer clothing he's wearing and why he should be looking good tonight but he's not entirely convinced. I'm convinced, Kurt, that's what I want to say. _I'm convinced. _

He pulls away and we start our journey to Lima. I listen to him as he goes on and on and on about his love for Marc Jacobs' new collection and the fact the Alexander McQueen was probably too superior for this world anyway and I'm not really sure what he talks about sometimes but I just soak in his voice. I feel so free and I know why now. I've found the answer. _Kurt_ frees me.

We're sat at a set of traffic lights when Kurt appears to have an epiphany. He frowns and pulls a bizarre face and mutters to himself and then shoots me a worried glance.

"I'm so sorry." he says and I smile at him, I don't know why he's sorry but it's adorable.

"I'm being so overbearing. I've been talking about clothes for a whole forty minutes, Blaine. You should have said something." He says and his voice is slightly strained, he's genuinely upset with himself. I don't like that. Not at all.

"It's fine, if I really wanted to, I'd have changed the subject. Don't apologise to me." I offer and he smiles gratefully as we start driving again. He lets out a sigh.

"Do you like musicals?" He asks, seemingly rather out-of-the-blue, like that time he asked me if I'd ever been fishing while we were supposed to be completing our homework on the French Revolution.

"Of course I like musicals, Kurt, I'm gay _and_ I'm a Warbler." I say cheerfully, as he continues to drive us to his house. He pulls a face that outright makes me smile, like it was so obvious that he doesn't know why he even bothered asking me. It's then that I get the feeling he's just as nervous as I am about tonight. It feels like a big deal, and it is, I need them to like me. I need the approval of Burt and Finn and Carole; especially Burt.

"Well, Blaine the homosexual Warbler, it's your lucky night because I just happen to have a Rodgers and Hammerstein CD in here waiting to be played." He reaches out a searching hand and turns on the stereo and it makes me incredibly nervous because I need him to keep both hands on the steering wheel. Especially now it's getting dark.

His hands are soon back in their proper place and I can relax again and before I know it the unmistakeable opening notes of _You'll Never Walk Alone _vibrate around me.

I could cry as Kurt starts to sing along, his beautiful voice softly filling the silence that lies around us. I imagine that he's singing this song to me, I imagine that he knows everything about my father and I and that he's still here for me anyway, that he still cares. He still tells me that he loves me. My heart thunders. My eyes flood with tears and Kurt, he sings like his soul is at stake. _When you walk through the storm  
>Hold your head up high<br>And don't be afraid of the dark  
>At the end of the storm<br>There's a golden sky  
>And the sweet silver song of the lark<em>

_Walk on, through the wind  
>Walk on, through the rain<br>Though your dreams be tossed and blown  
>Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart<br>And you'll never walk alone  
>You'll never walk alone<br>_

o~o~o

I'm almost upset when we finally pull into Kurt's driveway. I've been having such a wonderful, emotional and inspiring time listening to him sing beautiful songs like _If I Loved You _and _Getting To Know You_ that I don't want it to be over. The drive here has been one of those rare moments - it has been filled with so much purity that I know I could never forget it, or the feeling it has left in my chest.

Kurt's home is incredibly beautiful, it's humble and its unspoiled. Hard work and love have clearly built it and I can't help but think that foundations don't come any sturdier than that. Not a storm or an earthquake could touch what they have and I don't think I could possibly be more contented by it all. I could flourish here. I look over to Kurt and he's still smiling.

"It's not much," he says, locking his car, "not compared to a big house like yours."

"Kurt, it's beautiful." I say honestly because even though it's smaller and older I could never have what Kurt has within these walls.

"Thank you. Carole's been looking forward to meeting you." Kurt informs me and my heart swells. I can't help but wonder what Kurt has told her about me.

Kurt walks ahead of me and opens his front door, gesturing for me to step in ahead of him, like a gentleman, and so I do. His house feels incredibly different to mine, the atmosphere is alive and well and the stenches of alcohol and urine are replaced by the sweet scents of home cooking and freshly cut flowers. This is a home, I think. This is what coming home feels like. I grit my jaw as tears threaten to form again. Those songs Kurt's been singing and the feel of this house are almost too much for me to stand. I feel so emotional tonight.

"We're home!" Kurt shouts past me and it isn't long before Carole emerges, from where I guess is the kitchen, wrapped in an purple and blue striped apron. She looks like the definition of a mother, shooting me rays of affection as she nears me. She simply radiates love and I can tell that she's probably one of the people who cries when watching those sad adverts on television about sick children.

"Blaine, honey." She beams as she reaches out to me, offering me a hug. I cannot refuse her, I feel like I'm gravitating towards her kindness and before I know what's going on I'm wrapped in her arms. She's so soft and she smells like jasmine.

"Thank you for having me over." I say gratefully as she separates us and she starts to rub my shoulders gently. I wonder if, as a mother, she can tell that I'm covered in bruises because she gives me a look of concern that I can't quite source.

"You should have been here a lot sooner, you're all Kurt talks about." She confides with a tiny wink and I smile behind me at Kurt, who is looking ever so slightly embarrassed. A soft red tint covering his cheeks. He straightens his shirt before he walks up next to me and leans in to kiss Carole on the cheek. Kurt has found himself a mother. I wonder if I have found one too.

"Anyway," she says, "I better go and check on the dinner, you make yourself at home." She says to me and she smiles at Kurt once more before she shouts up the stairs.

"Finn, honey? Come and set the table with Kurt." I don't even hear a single sound of resistance, I just hear footsteps overhead and then Finn emerges at the top of the stairs, Noah in tow. Noah's here. It doesn't surprise me, not really, because in between the forty minute fashion talk Kurt gave me in the car he said that Noah had come home with Finn and was probably staying for dinner too. It's just strange to see him because I've only ever said two words to him and he tends to be quite honest and harsh- both of which make me a little nervous. That's not his fault though, it's all me and so I try not to judge him before I know him properly. If Burt lets him over this often he must be okay.

Kurt leans into me, "Will you be okay with Noah? I'd let Finn lay out the cutlery alone but he puts the spoons in the wrong place every single time. It drives me insane."

"I'll be fine." I assure him, he waits for Finn to be down the stairs and past him before he follows him into the kitchen. Turning around briefly to roll his eyes at me.

"So, Blaine," Noah starts inquisitively, dragging my attention away from the door that Kurt's just vanished through, "You and my boy Kurt official now, or what?" He moves to stand next to me and clasps a hand on my shoulder and I have to admit that he's far gentler than I imagined he would be. I also have to admit that I find his straightforward nature enthralling.

"I'm afraid not." I say honestly because a straight talker like Noah would spot a lie ten thousand miles off. I don't want to be known as a liar, that's not the impression I like to give people.

"Dude, _why? _He's totally into you." Noah says and he looks genuinely bewildered.

"I respect him, I don't want to ruin what we have." I offer, hoping he'll understand.

"Can't you respect him _and _be with him?" He asks and it's a sincere question. His brows are furrowed and he's waiting for an answer now, I don't think I expected him to care so genuinely about his best friend's new brother. Especially with the history between them both. Noah hasn't always been so civil to Kurt, I know that. It's almost a relief.

"Of course, I could." I say.

"But?" he says, waving a hand in the air and gesturing for me to carry on.

"He's still settling into Dalton. I don't want to add pressure to the situation." I say carefully, hoping he'll understand that I don't want to make his life more complicated now it's finally getting less complicated.

"I'm more than one thousand percent sure he'd be into that." He offers as he raises an eyebrow. I feel like there's something else he could tell me at this point but he doesn't.

"Oh, really?" I ask and I'm smiling now. He nods.

"Damn straight." He confirms with nothing but confidence in himself, "You're a good guy from what I hear."

"From what I hear, so are you, Noah." I respond and he almost cringes but instead he just shakes his head in disbelief.

"Puck." He says, with pleading eyes.

"What?" I ask. I'm a little confused.

"Please call me _Puck,_ Only my Mom and Kurt call me Noah. It drives me insane but I can't tell Kurt to stop in case he bursts into glittering tears." I laugh at how he's blatantly telling me that he doesn't want to hurt Kurt's feelings. I know that I'm going to like this guy.

"Blaine! Noah! Dinner's Ready! Come and get it!" Kurt shouts from the kitchen. Puck sighs as we walk to the kitchen together, no doubt despairing at the use of his first name, I have to smile. It's kind of endearing.

It's then that it happens. I couldn't see it coming and I panicked. I straight out _panicked. _Puck reached out an innocent hand and patted me on the back and it almost stopped me dead. My heart is pounding in my ears and my throat is throbbing.

I have to reach out to the doorframe to try and compose myself. I look into the kitchen and nobody is paying me any attention. Burt is laughing and helping Carole put food in little bowls and Kurt and Finn are pouring drinks.

I look around nervously at Puck and he's staring at me with a level of concern that I never expected to see from him. Though, I think I made my biggest mistake when he reached out a hand and I flinched. 

o~o~o


	5. Chapter 5

o~o~o

"I'm sorry if I scared you." That's all Puck says to me as he buries his hands in his jeans' pockets. He's got a guilty look on his face and it's hard for me to understand why he won't _look_ at me anymore. Puck hasn't done anything wrong, not a thing, it was just a reflex, a stupid, unpredictable case of muscle memory. I know this is true because I know that Puck isn't going to hurt me, I know that he's just a kid, like me, I know that he cares about Finn and Kurt and I know that he thinks I'm a good guy. He just told me so. It's not him, it's me and I want to tell him this but I don't get the chance.

"Come on in guys!" Finn says as he takes a seat at the table and catches sight of us lingering in the doorway. I can only imagine what we look like. He's waving Puck and I in and he's got that trademark goofy smile plastered on his face. It settles me a little, his smile, in a way it reminds me that I'm not at home, I'm in the unfamiliar but safe territory of the Hummel-Hudson household. No one will judge me here, no one will call me a faggot and no one would even dream of physically attacking me. They're not like my father, they're so generous, so kind and in my head I know that, I do, I just have to make myself believe it.

I pull myself together then, I have to, I breathe in the scents of the cooked meat and the rich, crisp vegetables and I decide to walk right in there. I straighten myself up and Puck lets out an unexpectedly shaky breath as he follows closely behind me. I'm very aware that he must know that something is wrong with me now. He's just had a good glimpse at how messed up I really am.

I want to turn around and tell Puck not to worry about me, that it's only a temporary situation, that it's not too bad, that I've survived for years and I'm not _dead_ yet but I can't do it. Especially not in the middle of the kitchen, not when I'm trying to make a good first impression, not when I'm so scared, I could breakdown. One word from Puck and _everything_ I've worked so hard to keep private will be the subject of public conversation, I can't have that. I can't let them know that I'm not brave, that I'm not heroic, that I'm not daring. I can't explain that to Kurt, I can't be a disappointment to him. My dreams seem so much further away when he's not there. I need him and I need my dreams. If I don't have them I don't have anything. I need _something_ to hold onto.

"Oh, Blaine, you can sit next to me." Kurt says quickly, tapping the wooden seat closest to him as he pushes it out with a booted foot. I automatically take the seat I'm offered, my head still whirling with thoughts, and Kurt pats me softly on the thigh before he smiles reassuringly at me. I know that they're just tiny gestures but coming from Kurt they mean a lot to me and I'm reminded of why I need to make a good impression here. I'm here tonight because I care very much for Kurt, I care for his happiness, I care for his heart, I care for his eccentricities, I care for _every_ single part of him. Including his flaws, especially his flaws, because they're _Kurt's_ flaws and they're part of what makes him so special. I can't help but wonder what makes me special.

I look up and across the table as Puck takes a seat opposite me, he seems a little more composed when he's sitting next to Finn. He looks like his usual self, he's got his bluster back, he's nudging his friend with his elbow and he looks cheerful. In response Finn nudges Puck back playfully and tries half-heartedly to stab his friend's hand with the blunt end of a knife. It's so adorable, _they're_ so adorable, I must be smiling now. I must be.

"See how _gay_ this is?" Kurt whispers to me but I don't say anything in return because I'm thinking that, between the both of us, Kurt and I have always been outcasts in one way or another and we've never had best friends that are boys. I don't _know_ if it's normal for two boys to watch _Priscilla Queen of The Desert_ in the dark or if it's _normal _for them to constantly be touching as often as Finn and Puck are but does it really matter? In fact, I don't even know what 'normal' means. Don't people just like to connect with other people, both emotionally and physically? Isn't that what I live for, isn't it what we all live for? That little something that tells us that everything is alright? That little reassurance that things aren't as awful as they seem. Connection is our hope. It's my only hope.

"Do you like beef?" Carole says, leaning into me slightly as she takes the adjacent chair, the soft scent of jasmine filling my lungs. She calms me by just being there and it's slightly overwhelming. She's sat at the head of the table and Burt is seated opposite her. I can't help but think it's like _Beauty and the Beast_, just on a smaller scale, with the doting couple sitting so far apart over a spectacular dinner. The balance of it is beautiful. Everyone is equal here. Though, I can't help but wonder how many times this family has eaten dinner together, with Puck, and how many of those times Kurt's been left sitting next to an empty chair.

"I love beef and it smells delicious." I offer in reply to her question and Carole smiles so brightly at me that I can't help but remember her holding me in her arms. The warmth, the love, the perfume. Part of me wants to tell her everything because I know that she'd be able to take care of me better than anyone else in the world. Better than Puck and even better than Kurt because she's a mother and she's older and she's wiser and she knows the truth about the world. The world's had it's chance to hurt her and so she'd understand how it hurts me sometimes too.

Another part of me just wants to tell Carole that I'll eat anything she makes for me because we don't cook at my house and we definitely don't eat at our table. The only thing our table does is act as a beer bottle collection point. Of course, I don't say anything to her, I'm not implicating this wonderful family in my disarray. Not ever. I will not tarnish them with my drama. It's my hill to climb alone. It's my problem, it's my_ father's _problem. It's not Carole's, or Burt's, or Kurt's, or Finn's or Puck's.

"You're such a sweetheart." Carole says tenderly to me as she starts offering the food around, making sure that everyone takes at least two generous slices of the Beef and good amount of vegetables. It's such a motherly thing to do and I know that my mother would have done it too, if she were here.

I try to take less food than the others because I'm a guest and I don't want to seem rude or greedy. I don't want to look like I haven't had a home cooked meal in two months, even if it's true, and I don't want to look gluttonous and starved. Even though half of my life has been spent with an empty stomach, and I would love nothing more than to tuck into mountains of food in a harmless location, I need to appear acceptable. Wolfing down food isn't socially agreeable and I have better manners than that anyway. If I'm honest with myself, just being here is filling enough.

"How was school?" Carole asks generally, though she seems to be looking at Kurt and I the most and who could blame her? It's costing their family a fortune to send Kurt to Dalton Academy everyday. It serves me a harsh reminder: if two adults can barely afford the fees there's not a chance of me ever paying for it myself. I've thought about this and I know that there's absolutely no way I can do it, of course, I could just go to a regular school but if a wonderful person like Kurt gets ripped to shreds there, what would happen to someone like me?

"School was good," Finn offers and I'm not jealous that he has no social stigmas attached to him and that he can just go to a regular school, I'm _happy_ for him, "Football practice was awesome today."

"Oh yeah?" Burt interjects and it's the first time I've heard him speak tonight, it makes me slightly nervous, even though I know that Burt is a _lovely_ man. I generally try to avoid talking to older men unless it's absolutely necessary, I'm irrationally scared that they're going to raise their voices and I'll turn into a weeping muddle of myself. Though, judging by what's just happened with Puck in the hallway, maybe that fear isn't as irrational as I believed it was. I'm starting to doubt myself. I can't do that, that's what _he'd _want me to do. He'd want me to question myself and everybody and everything but I can't. I can't live like that, who could?

"Seriously, we were so amazing today, Mr H." Puck offers genuinely and it's suddenly clear to me that Puck's not about to mention anything that happened outside this room. I'm so incredibly grateful to him for that and it adds to my theory that Puck is an inherently good person. I'm also grateful that he's just proven to me that I can talk to Burt like a normal human being without having to work out if I'm close enough to an exit.

"We'll have to come to your next game." Burt continues and a father taking this much interest in his _step_-son's life, and even _Puck's_ life, is overwhelming to me. I can't remember the last time my father asked me how school was or if he could come to one of our performances. I don't remember the last time we even _talked _without him shouting at me.

"How about you boys? How was today?" Carole asks looking at Kurt and I and I'm touched that she even included me in the question.

"It was very educational. Not much fun but educational and poor Blaine has been feeling ill all day." Kurt offers, shooting me a small smile as he bumps our shoulders softly together. I have to close my eyes because it hurts and by the time they're open again Puck is staring at me in concern once more. He has to stop looking at me like that, it makes my heart pound.

"Are you feeling unwell now?" Carole asks, drawing my attention back to her, she's looking at me intently and I start to worry then. I worry about her worrying about me and I'm worrying about the bruises on my neck and those hidden under my shirt, "I did wonder why you were eating so little, honey."

I suddenly feel like an awful person, I feel so ungrateful. I feel like I'm letting people down, though I can't quite place who those people are. Everything feels a little more intense, everything seems a little more extreme. Even my palms start to sweat.

"I'm feeling better." I say and I think that maybe I could have sounded a little more convincing but the anxiety that I can feel rising in my chest wouldn't let me smile. It wouldn't even let me _look_ at Carole.

Kurt is watching me now, I can feel his eyes burning into me. I can tell he wants to say something but he doesn't. He holds his tongue and that's almost enough to make me smile again because not saying what he thinks is _hard_ for Kurt. Very hard.

"You didn't have to come here tonight if you're sick, Blaine." Carole reassures, as she places her hand on top of mine. I didn't even know it was on the table. I'm suddenly reminded of Mrs. Hiller and I wonder if I can absorb Carole's love too. I wonder if I can absorb it through my skin and store it inside of me for when times are so hard that I start questioning myself. I wonder if it'll make me feel any happier when I get consumed by doubt. I look at her then and her smile is so perfect that my heart breaks. _Thank you, Carole,_ I want to say, _thank you so much._

Instead I just nod in reply because I can't trust my own voice, not after the last time, but Kurt sighs. A big, exaggerated burst of a sigh. A sigh that _says you better listen to me and you better listen good. _He places his knife and fork down carefully, then he starts, "This is a rare opportunity, I had to bribe you to get him here, Dad. How could he pass that up? It might never happen again?"

I want to tell Kurt to be quiet, that he's putting himself in danger and then I remember that he's not. This isn't my house. I chance a look at Burt and he doesn't look angry that his son has just spoken to him in such a way and in front of a guest. He looks a little guilty. I didn't expect that, I look away from him, I'm not used to seeing grown men looking like that.

"Blaine?" Burt starts and now I have to look at him, I have to show him my face, I have to look him in the eye. I'm the person who gave his son so much _hope,_ so much self-belief, I can do this, I know that I can. I look at him and a tiny smile plays on his lips.

"For the record, I think it's great that you're finally here." he starts, "It shouldn't have taken a broken vase for me to let you come around and I'm sorry." I don't know what to do. He's apologising to _me._ I try to imagine my father apologising for everything he's done but my head can't even make it up.

"It's fine, sir." I say eventually and Burt shakes his head.

"Non of that. I want you to join us in our home more often, even though it's not much, you're welcome here. And from now on, you call me Burt. Okay, kid?"

I struggle to process what has just happened. My world seems a little bit brighter and my heart feels a bit lighter. I'm full of hope again, I feel like I can be who I want to be and I wonder if Kurt knows how amazing it is that he has Burt and Carole. I can't help but wonder if I have finally found myself a place to call my home.

As the night moves on everything seems that little bit easier for me and I finally feel comfortable. I feel like I don't have to hide inside myself and I have to give them credit because I haven't felt this way in a very long time. I relax and I talk and I smile and Kurt, he keeps looking at me and he looks so happy that I know everything is going well. Even Puck has stopped staring I me and that has to be progress.

I feel like I've finally come home. 

o~o~o

Kurt's bedroom is in the basement, I'm pretty sure that could have been unnerving if it hadn't been decorated so impeccably. It's surprisingly bright and spacious and everything seems to have an appropriate place because not a single item looks abandoned. I almost feel ashamed of the sheer amount of paper I have scattered around my own room.

It's not long before we're sitting on one of Kurt's two sofa's and Finn and Puck are on the other. We're all about to watch a movie together because apparently Kurt has the best television in the house, which doesn't really surprise me, when has Kurt ever settled for less?

I'm feeling quite tired and the sofa is unnaturally comfortable and so as soon as we've decided on a movie to watch I adopt a cushion as a pillow. Before the opening credits even end my eyelids are flickering and I don't hear a single word of dialogue before I'm asleep. I don't dream, I just rest.

"I think this is yours." are the first words I hear when I wake up. It takes a while for me to open my eyes and even longer for me to remember where I am. I'm at Kurt's house. My eyes shoot open, what time is it? I have to go home. I look around frantically for a clock only to come face to face with Puck. He's staring at me and he's on his knees, waving something in my face. I can't tell what it is at first because the room is a lot darker than it was and I'm still in the haze of sleep.

"I know it's yours." He tries again as he holds the item incredibly still. It's enough for my eyes to finally adjust to it. I take it in and then I start to freak out. It's a small container of concealer, which looks suspiciously like the one that was in my pocket.

My brain is screaming at me to get up and leave. I know that I can avoid this confrontation. I can get out of the basement and I can run away. I'm about to leap off the sofa and sprint up the stairs when it dawns on me. I suddenly remember that this is _Kurt's_ room, the very same Kurt who has a moisturising regime and goes on spa days with the girls. There's not a doubt in my mind that Kurt would have concealer knocking around.

"It must be Kurt's." I say and I know my voice is shaking, _I know_, and I know that my eyes must be huge. I look around the dimly light room, Kurt and Finn are both asleep.

"Really?" Puck starts and I want him to leave me alone and stop talking, "Because I found it right next to your feet and I know those bruises weren't on your neck at dinner." I grab at my own neck and wrap my hands around it, this can't be happening to me, this can't unravel, not now, not now I've found a solution to hiding all of those disgusting marks.

Oh god, he can't find out how weak I am, my chest is pounding, my head is throbbing and I can't breathe. My lungs won't let enough air in. I should never have gotten so comfortable, I should have been more careful, I shouldn't have been so damn _happy_ tonight.

I know that this has to be some cruel trick of fate, this is probably a sign that I can never be happy but I won't believe that. I won't because I can be someone, I can, can't I? Oh god. What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing? Get up.

I push past Puck and race towards the stairs and I know that I must be crying because I can feel the tears running down my face now. I look back at Kurt sleeping peacefully and a sob escapes me as I stand on the first step. I'm so sorry, Kurt, I'm so, so sorry. I can't stay. I can't upset you, I can't let you see that I'm not strong, that I'm not brave, that I'm not courageous. I'm sorry I lied, I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm _sorry._

"Stop!" Puck whispers harshly as he wraps his hands around my arms and turns me around on the spot. He's much stronger than I expected and in that moment it scares me. His fingers are digging into old bruises and I freeze, I freeze because it hurts and in my head I can see my father pushing me around again. I don't want it to hurt anymore, I just want to live, is that too much to ask? Can't I just be happy?

I need to get out of here, the room is getting smaller and his grip is getting tighter and silent sobs are absolutely shaking my body now. All I can think about is how much of a fool I'm making of myself and how embarrassing and stupid and pathetic and useless I am. Sobbing like a baby because of a few stupid bruises. My head starts to spin.

"Please, let me go?" I whisper and he looks torn before he complies and releases my arms. I have a chance, I can escape and I'm going to. Until Puck grabs my hands and holds them tightly down so I can't push him away from me. He looks so sad and this is why no one was ever supposed to know. No one. I don't need people's pity, I don't need Puck's pity. I'm okay. I'm okay, I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm _okay!_ I can handle this, it isn't too much, is it? It can't be too much. Please, don't be too much, I don't know how much more I can stand. My heart beat pounds in my head and my breathing is so shallow I'm surprised I'm still standing.

"That hurt you and I'm sorry." Puck says and I don't know what to do, I feel like a child, I feel like a stupid, insignificant little boy. I feel like my father is here. Oh _god._

"Please, just let me go home." I beg softly and he shakes his head and his eyes alone tell me there's no way that's happening, not without a fight. I can't fight anymore, I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired of fighting. I'm tired of bleeding and crying and hurting and I just want it to stop. Just _stop_.

"I can't let you go home." Puck says and I'm still crying and it's frustrating and annoying and _I_ must be so frustrating and annoying. What must Puck think? _No._ I turn my face away from him then because who wants to see someone like this? Who wants to see a boy their own age with tears and bruises and snot and sweat running down him. I'm so cowardly, I'm so _repellent. _I make myself sick.

"Why wont you just let me go?" I ask and I still wont look at him. I can't bring myself to do it. Even though his grip has loosened I still can't look him in the eye, or push him away or be not a little bit afraid of him.

"Because he'll _hurt_ you, Blaine." Puck says and my heart skips a beat, I can feel it because it's the same time that it hits the bottom of my stomach and I want to be sick. Is it that obvious? Am I that _stupidly_ obvious? Is everything I've tried so hard to hide so fucking _obvious?_

"No." is all I can say and I don't even know why anymore. I don't know anything anymore. I feel like my whole world has fallen apart. It was never supposed to be like this. _Never._

"Blaine, you should have told someone." He tries and I just shake my head. I'm a mess.

"You don't know what you're talking about." I say and part of me wants to look at him and tell him everything because I might feel better and I might be able to tell the truth to one single person in the whole world but I can't._ I can't._

"I know more than you think." I look at him then, what does that mean? He bites his lip and I see it then, I see that he is crying too.

"Look, Blaine, just come back down here and we'll talk. We'll cover that mess on your neck back up and we'll just talk. I won't tell him." Puck pleads and I can't do anything other than stare into his eyes, they're full of truth and honesty and hope. _Hope. _I thought hope was gone?

"I won't tell Kurt, that's not my business, alright, but you have to stay here. Deal?" Part of me still wants to run.

"Why?" I ask and it's much harder to talk to him when I'm looking at him, it's so much harder that I almost don't.

"Because you can't walk all the way home, okay?" I just nod. I just nod and as he releases my hands I reach out to him. He's seen me like _this_ and he _still_ cares and I can't help myself. I can't help but reach out to the boy who looks so hurt. I cry. I cry so hard I think my head might explode but I never make a single sound because I can't wake Kurt. I can't.

"I know. It's okay." He whispers and as I stand with my head on his shoulder a part of me sets itself free because someone knows now and they don't hate me and they care and they just want to help.

Eventually Puck manages to manoeuvre me to Kurt's ensuite bathroom and I feel like an idiot when we close the door over and he turns the light on. It blinds my eyes and they feel swollen and sore. I feel so stupid that I want to just crawl into the cupboard under the sink and hide. Until I see Puck and I realise that his eyes are red and puffy too.

"When did he do it?" Puck asks and I know that it makes no difference to the situation but I can't deny him anything in this moment because he promised not to tell Kurt and that means everything to me. _Everything._ Tears fill my eyes again and I'm feeling over emotional.

"Hey, it's okay. We can fix it." He says as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the concealer, he twists the lid and coats his finger tips before he starts touching my neck. He starts around the back and it hurts but not nearly enough for me to ask him to stop. He's about half way done when it happens.

A tiny _Oh my god_ echoes from somewhere in the darkness behind Puck and I know, I just know that it's Kurt. I do the only thing I can think of. I turn away from him. I have never felt so desolate. I have never felt so alone, things can never be the same again.

Everything we had has gone. 

o~o~o


	6. Chapter 6

o~o~o

"Kurt, I think maybe you should leave?" That's the first thing Puck says when Kurt steps into his cramped bathroom and closes the door behind himself. His voice is firm and unwavering. Puck doesn't beat around the bush and I'm so grateful that his defensive nature comes about in such an honest way. Tonight, if nothing else, I've learnt that it's not tricky to understand Puck, he tells it to you straight. You don't have to look for hidden meanings or messages in everything he says; if he says it, he means it. End of story.

Puck's very different from me, at least in that respect, because I'm staring at a tiny dot on an otherwise spotless wall, questioning why I can't speak for myself when I have so many things to say. I have a mouth, I know I do, it just doesn't seem to be working. I think that maybe it's because I've been keeping this secret since I was eight years old, that's half a life-time of carrying a single secret around like a dead weight, but I'm not sure, not really. It doesn't truly explain why I can't even turn around and face the boy who is almost certainly my best friend in the entire world. It doesn't explain my loss of strength, does it?

Puck shifts himself a little behind me and I know that he's standing incredibly close to me because I can feel the heat coming off his body. It's then that it clicks in my head, he doesn't want Kurt to see me like this, he told me it was my business, that I had to tell Kurt when it was right for me. He's being very protective of me. If nothing else, one thing rings astoundingly true tonight, Noah Puckerman is a man of his word.

"No." Kurt says and I can hear how determined he is even if his voice isn't as strong as he wanted it to be, I know what it's like when you're trying to stand up for something and your vocal chords wont collaborate with your brain, "Why would I leave? This is _my_bathroom, Noah!"

"Kurt, that is so _not_ the point, right now. You need to leave, for _Blaine._" Puck tries again and this time his voice is bursting with so much sincerity that Kurt doesn't even reply for what seems like an eternity. I'm glad I can't actually see Kurt because I'm feeling so ashamed of myself right now and I'm completely mortified by my lack of participation in this conversation.

"_No. _Those marks-" Kurt starts again and I feel really dreadful, I feel like my life is a fiasco and everything I've tried so hard to keep from everyone, from Kurt in particular, is slowly being unravelled and part of me just wants to black out so I can escape this. All those contusions and scars and I have never ever felt like this. I have never felt like such a pathetic, pitiable, dismal human being. The worst part is- I let this happen when I let my guard down.

I keep my focus on the wall.

"Kurt, he can't do this right now, okay?" Puck endeavours to explain and I feel brainless because Puck is still being my voice and that must make me twice as weak as I thought I was being. I bet Kurt's wondering where I've gone, where's your courage now, Blaine? Where's your nerve and your bravado? Where's the audacity and the gallantry you tried so damn hard to drum into him so he could finally just be himself? Has it's all gone, just like that?

"_No_." Kurt says defiantly, "I want _him_to tell me to leave. He's hurt, Noah." Kurt is whispering, I wonder if that's because he can't physically sound any louder or if he's suddenly remembered that Finn's asleep just beyond this small, claustrophobic room.

"Kurt, why are you making this so hard for him?" Puck verbalises finally and I have to close my eyes tightly just to keep my emotions check, I'm being so useless. Why am I letting them both talk about me like I'm some kind of hopeless mute? Puck shifts behind me and I'm imploring him not to move away from me.

Don't leave me here Puck, not yet, I still can't handle this. It's too much. Leaving me now would be the final straw, the straw that broke the camel's back.

"He's my best friend, Noah." Kurt whispers and he sounds like he's crying now, his voice sounds heavy and altered, "Blaine, please, who hurt you? Please, I don't understand what's going on here."

Pleading is so evident in his voice that it scares me and he's talking to_ me_now, not Puck. I wonder if he sounded as sad as this when he asked Karofsky to leave him alone. Did he sound quite so lost? I don't like it, not at all, and for the first time since Puck woke me up I'm focusing on Kurt rather than myself. My heart flutters, hearing Kurt sound so genuinely upset is incredibly distressing for me. I want to hold him. We built him a new life, he doesn't have to sound so dejected anymore, I promised him he'd never have to cry again.

It's then, when I can barely stop myself from turning around, that I realise something profound. I'd do anything to stop Kurt reverting back into that terrified, miserable person he was when I first met him. He was so exhausted and worn down. I remember my heart breaking when I realised that we were the only people he could talk to seriously about his troubles. We were his rivals, what did that say about his friends? I gave him my trust that day and Kurt gave me his. I owe him _something._I owe him answers and I owe myself the opportunity to be honest and connect with him truthfully.

"Blaine?" Puck starts softly as he moves cautiously to stand in front of me. He's not dim-witted and apparently his word is _law,_ so he keeps me turned away from Kurt at all times. When I look up at him his eyes are still red, but more importantly, he looks shattered, "I don't know what to do here. What do you want? For _you?"_

Mainly, I think, I want to go away, so ridiculously far away. I want to escape and run from everything- this room, these two people who care for me too much, my house, my father, my life. _Everything. _I could start again. I could start a new life and no one would ever have to look at me and know that I'm the kid who's father abused him.

But then there's _Kurt. _

Kurt who I appreciate and adore so much it actually hurts. Kurt who is the only person in the world to ever make me truly forget my troubles. The very same Kurt who could keep me happy, keep my dreams alive, keep _me_alive. We could be alive together. If only he wouldn't see all of these stupid bruises every time he looks at me. I can do this. For me, for Kurt, for my dreams and for Puck, the wonderful Puck who seems to understand this situation on such a personal level that it worries me.

"Blaine?" Puck asks again and I feel like it's just me and him for a second.

"Can you let me talk to him, alone?" The words leave my mouth before I can question them and maybe it's because my subconscious trusts Kurt.

"Are you sure?" Puck asks and I just nod because there's no way I'm getting out of here without speaking to him anyway. Kurt lets out a shaky breath and that makes me relax.

"I'll be right outside the door, okay? If you need me just call me. I'll come straight in. _Straight away._" I nod and he rubs my shoulders tenderly before he leaves me staring at the wall. Except I'm _not_staring at the wall anymore, I'm waiting to turn around. Kurt likes me, he tells me that he loves me. He's on my side. He cares.

Puck's voice echoes around the room once more before the door clicks shut and we're alone, "Just be there for him, Kurt. He needs you to _listen._"

o~o~o

I think that sometimes you don't give certain people the credit they deserve. I think sometimes you can build yourself up for something so terrible that you're genuinely shocked when people show you kindness and understanding and humility. You're shocked by their unusual stoicism as they try desperately hard to restrain themselves. For you. It's startling when such passionate people, people like Kurt, don't start shouting and demanding and waving their arms around. Then you realise, they know what you need and what you need is a _friend._

"I don't understand what happened to you." Kurt says honestly as I turn around to finally look at him. His cheeks are flushed and his face is wet and I'm reminded of all the times he cried on my shoulder before he came to Dalton. It makes the protective side of me stir, it grounds me a little.

"I don't want to lie to you, Kurt." I say because it's true and I feel like I've probably told enough lies to last a lifetime. Kurt reaches out a hand then. I reach mine out too, of course I do, and when I take his I'm shocked at the tremble that runs through it. He's shaking.

He crouches down slowly and falls into a seated position on the floor, dragging me down with him. I'm glad for it, I don't know what's going to be said or how much I'll give away or if I can trust my legs. It's better like this, much less confrontational and no one can just walk away. He can't just abandon me in a second.

"Blaine, you can tell me anything you want to, I'll always love you just the same. _Always."_ I have to close my eyes to fight off forming tears because _that's _what I've feared all along. I feared that he would love me less. As if it were possible for him to turn on me so quickly- after everything we've been through together. I've miscalculated Kurt, I have, because we haven't even talked about anything serious yet and he's crushed my greatest concern. Part of me wants to kick myself for not telling him as soon as he mattered to me so much but I was so scared then. I can't be scared now. Kurt is handing me my courage back. I have to take it.

"I- I think this would work better if you asked me questions." I say shakily because I don't want this to be some huge confession, this isn't a confessional it's a bathroom. I don't think I can just tell him everything like I'm dictating to a diary, exposing dark secrets and harsh truths. I need him to help me. I need him to stay. I need him to have a role in this.

"Okay. I can do that but-" He stops himself and he looks at me intently, so intently that my heart pounds, before he continues with a tiny voice, "Can I give you a hug first?"

I bite my bottom lip as I nod and he moves towards me on his knees, letting go of my hand to wrap his arms around me softly. All I can hear is him breathing and all I can feel is his love. He rubs my back gently and whispers hushed words into my ear.  
><em><br>I'm so sorry, Blaine._

It's okay.

I love you.

When he pulls away from me he settles back down and our knees are touching, both of our hands are touchng too, and I have never felt so intimate with another person. I have never felt so cherished.

"Okay." He starts, letting out an sigh, his hands squeezing mine reassuringly as he asks, "Who did this to you?"

That just had to be the first question, of course it did.

"We don't all have fathers like Burt." I say quietly because I still can't quite bring myself to say _My dad does this to me, Kurt. _

He frowns when he realises exactly what I've just told him, he looks burnt, but he wont stop looking at me with those beautiful eyes of his.

"Okay." he says as he sucks in a deep breath, he needs to keep reassuring himself and it's unnerving, "When did he do that?"

He nods his head towards my neck and I look down instinctively as if looking down would let me see what he can see too- the half-hidden mass of blues on my skin.

All I can see are our hands clasped together but that doesn't matter because I know what my neck looks like, I spent a very long time trying to cover it tonight.

"Yesterday." I say eventually because what else is there to say? I need to be honest here. I'm telling him the truth.

"Wait." he says and his eyebrows furrow, "Is that- That's why you couldn't phone me, isn't it?"

I nod and I can see that he's trying to process it all in his head, he's probably trying to imagine what was going on last night. I'm almost sure he doesn't see the blood on the wall.

"Blaine," he starts and his voice is impossibly tiny, "How often does your dad hurt you?"

I can see tears brimming on top of his lower eyelids now. My heart thuds. _Don't cry, Kurt, I'm okay. You make me okay. _

"When he's drunk." I answer honestly because it's true and it's not like we schedule it. I can't put a time frame on it. It just happens. It's just the way my life is. It's the way it's always been, though, obviously it's been a little worse since I came out to him.

"And how often is he drunk?" Kurt responds quickly and when he looks at me like that I can't lie to him. He's gripping my hands so tightly that I know he's not going anywhere. I need to relax.

Breathe. Just say it. _Breathe._

"All the time."

"Oh, Blaine-" he says and I watch as a stray tear slips down his face and under his chin. He can't wipe it away because our hands are still firmly entwined. There's something profound about not being able to hide yourself away when you feel so lost, so vulnerable.

"How long has he been doing this to you?" He asks me as he sniffles, his nose is as red as his cheeks. I dread to think how blotchy my own face is.

I don't quite know how to answer Kurt's question because I know exactly when it all started. _Exactly._ It was the night of my mom's funeral. We'd just put her in the ground when we went home and he abandonned me in our house, in favour of going to a bar. That's _very_confusing for an eight year old. It's even more confusing when your father comes home like a wild monster from a book your mother once read to you and hits you in the face. It's hard, when you're eight, to understand why your father wishes you dead.

"Since my mom." I start. "I'd just turned eight, I remember because I was so scared. He terrified me." I say and Kurt squeezes my hands tightly again. I'm grateful for that because no matter how tiny those gestures are they _help_me. In fact, the more I tell him, the lighter I feel. I no longer feel like Atlas with the heavens bearing down on my shoulders. I feel unburdened. I feel progress.

"You can't go home tonight." He says suddenly and I shake my head then. _No._I have to go home. This has been so beautifully cathartic for me but I don't want to ruin it all by arguing with Kurt.

"I have to, Kurt. I should already be home by now." I can see that he doesn't know what to say to that.

"He might be drunk." He says eventually and he sounds so scared. He's scared for me and a warmth surges through me. Oh, Kurt.

"I'll be careful, I swear." I offer and hope he accepts that, I hope he can understand that I can't just walk away. People knowing doesn't make a difference to anything. It doesn't modify the situation when I walk through the door later.

"Maybe I should tell my dad. He could help you." Kurt suggests and I stiffen. He can't do that.

"No. Kurt, you can't tell them. You _can't."_I urge and he eventually nods reluctantly, I know he's just obliging me because it doesn't seem to settle well on him. He's humouring me, it's obvious and I'm almost impressed by the self-restraint he's clearly showing.

"I could take you home now, if you want, I don't want you to get into trouble because of me." He offers and he smiles then, the tiniest of smiles before he takes one of his hands back from me to wipe at his cheeks.

"He's probably asleep. It's getting late, Kurt, you don't have to take me. I could get a bus or something." I say helpfully and he looks scandalised.

"You are _not_going home on a bus in the middle of the night! I'll take you." He says before he stands up and hoists me off the floor.

Kurt doesn't let go of my hand as he opens the bathroom door and we come across Puck. Puck's sitting on the floor, his knees draw upwards and his back leaning against the wall. He startles when the light hits his face before he turns to look at us, his eyes lingering on our hands before he rises from the ground.

"Are you heading home now?" Puck asks and I can hear the concern in his voice as I close the bathroom door behind us. We are once more coated in the semi-darkness of Kurt's room but it doesn't make anything easier.

"I'm going to drive him now." Kurt says and his voice is still a little shaky. Puck just nods and draws his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Please, take care of yourself." Puck says to me as he leans in to give me a hug. I nod and he looks me over before he reaches over to Kurt and rubs a comforting hand up and down his arm.

"I'll try." I say shortly because it's an honest answer and Puck deserves that.

"I want you to have this." he says as he reaches into his pocket- it's my tub of concealer and a small piece of paper. The paper is a phone number. His phone number.

"_Thank you._" I say not knowing what else I can say in response to a gesture like that. I'm blown away by his kindness.

"Call me if you need to talk. Day _or _night." He says and his eyes are searching mine so deeply that there's no way I can reject such humility. I smile at him and I hope that I've found someone that I can talk to because I don't think I can talk about this with Kurt. Not really.

I couldn't give him the horrible details or explain to him how dejected I actually feel when I'm forced to barricade myself in my bedroom. Not to him. I don't think I could handle telling Kurt but Puck, he _gets _it.

"Noah?" Kurt says softly, breaking the silence, "Can you come too? It's really late and I don't want to drive back alone at this tme of night." I could never argue with that, in fact I'd prefer that. Anyone driving _anywhere_in the dark makes me instantly paranoid. I can't lose Kurt, not now. Not now he knows and he still cares.

"Of course I'll come, Princess." He says sincerely and I wonder how long Puck's been calling Kurt 'Princess' because he doesn't even flinch, he actually smiles.

"Wait, what about Finn?" Puck asks finally, looking behind himself to observe his sleeping friend. There's a hint of tenderness there.

"He'll be in the exact same spot when we get home." Kurt offers and it's settled, they're taking me home.

I just hope that my father's not there, not when I'm feeling so relieved and cared about, I'd like the feeling to linger a little longer. I know Kurt's going to ask me about my father tomorrow at school and I wont be able to lie to him.

o~o~o


	7. Chapter 7

o~o~o

I can't help but feel touched when we pull up outside my house and Kurt tells me that it's not too late to turn back around. After he's driven me all this way, in the middle of the night, he's telling me he can make me up a spare bed or I can share his, if I want to, and as tempting as that truly is, I can't. I need to be here because I need Dalton and the only way I can have Dalton is if I can pay the fees. The only way I can pay the fees is if my father pays them and the only way I'll know if my father pays them is if I stick around. I don't say that to Kurt but that's the truth of it all. I'm not stupid, I know that my education matters, I know that an education like the one I get at Dalton is one in a million. I know that I have to take this opportunity so my dreams can shine that little bit brighter, so the skies in my mind are a little bit clearer. I have to be here for my future; it'll give me the best start when I've finished school and I can finally start living.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Kurt." I say as I unbuckle my seat belt and open the car door. The cold night air hits my warmed skin and the shock of it sends shivers down my spine. There's something beautiful about breathing in the fresh outdoor air, it fills me with hope, even if the air is so cold that it makes my lungs burn, it gives me that longing for life that I need.

When my feet meet the pavement I take a moment to look back at Kurt and Puck, I'm hoping for a smile or two but instead I get a duo of apprehensive faces staring back at me. It makes me nervous when I realise they're looking at me like that because they both know exactly what I'm walking back into. I feel bad that I haven't given them more of a say in this and I know that they care about me, _no matter what;_ so I suspect that I'm letting them down. I feel that me coming home, to this horrible house, is a sign that I'm giving up the ghost when I'm not. I'm really not because for the first time in my life I'm going home with the knowledge that this isn't a secret anymore. They've both freed me a little.

"Blaine, please, I'm _not_ happy about this." Kurt tries finally, as he reaches out a hand. A look of concern washing over his face and I can't blame him, not at all, I get where the worry comes from, I do. If the situation was reversed I'd have him locked away safely in my room for the foreseeable future.

I can't let the fact that they know change everything because realistically it changes nothing. I'm still Blaine Anderson and this is still my life.

"I have to be here." I say softly and Kurt lets his hand fall down onto his lap, he looks disappointed as frown settles on his face. I don't like it when he frowns, it makes me nervous. I'm constantly concerned that he'll slip back over the fine line that we laid out together. The line that separates feeling okay from feeling awful. I need Kurt to be strong for me, he's so empowering, when he's around I feel like I can be okay again. I feel like I can do anything.

I want to ask Kurt to stop worrying about me, right now, I'm not worth being so stressed out about because I'll live, I've lasted this long. I have dreams, I have hope, I have him, I even have _Puck_ and I never expected that. Not in a million years. I never suspected that the kid who used to throw Kurt so heartlessly into dumpsters would be the most understanding, gentle human being in the entire world. I never expected him to be such a beautiful person, if I've discovered anything, it's that you shouldn't prejudge the worth or value of something by its outward appearance alone. Puck turned out to be my diamond in the rough.

"Do you want me to walk you to the door?" Puck interjects, as if he knows that I'm thinking about him and I have to smile at that. There's nothing but sincerity in his voice. He's got a big heart for all his boldness and I'm suddenly glad that he has such a great friend in Finn because he deserves a close relationship with another human being. In fact, Puck deserves happiness in every single form because tonight he has been there for me more than anyone else has ever been. He's helped me be so honest with Kurt and I was too scared to do that by myself. I may never have found the guts to tell Kurt the truth were it not for Puck, I know that, I'm astoundingly indebted. I owe him so much.

"I'll be okay. Thanks." I say in answer to Puck's question because there is _no way_ I'm letting them get out of the car. There is no way Puck's putting a single foot on my garden path because if my father comes out of the front door I don't know what will happen. I'd have absolutely no control over the situation and I need to have some control here, in my own house. I need to at least _pretend_ I have control, if Puck gets hurt how can I justify my situation, how can I justify what my life has become?

"Seriously," Puck starts again, "I'll come with you." he says but now his eyes are darker and it's obvious that he's trying to defend me, he's telling me he wouldn't mind coming face to face with my father but I _would_ mind. I'd mind a lot. Though, I still can't stop myself from staring at the primal glint in his eyes and wondering _what if?_

"There's no point in us both getting cold." I say to him and I hope that he understands what I'm trying to say to him because I'm not sure that I do. I do know that this isn't Puck's fight, though, I'm almost certain he's had his own fight with a man just like my father at some point and that's enough for me. I wonder if I can be more like Puck one day, full of pluck and poise, I hope that I can. If I turn out to be barely half of the person Puck is I'd be very happy. I'd be so proud of myself and my own humility.

I look back to Kurt and he still looks seriously unconvinced. He's sitting there like I've sentenced myself to death and I think that maybe he could be right but I don't have a choice. He's got such a solemn expression on his face that I almost want to climb back into his car and explain to him exactly why this is happening but I wouldn't know where to start.

"Kurt," I begin, "If you feel tired on the way home, pull over." I say and it's the same advice I've given him a thousand times before. He nods.

"Of course I will." he says and the expression on his face changes into one of compassion. I close the car door. I expect them to drive off straight away, but of course they don't, they don't pull away until I'm in my house and I've closed the door behind me.

I stand in the hallway for a while, just listening for any signs of movement or life, but I can't hear a thing. He's probably out again, drinking in a bar with his backwards friends. I can't help but wonder if his backwards friends have children and if they're my age or much younger. I wonder if there's an eight year old kid out there tonight waiting for his or her father to come home and scare them half to death.

Statistically, I know that it's likely and that's probably what makes me feel so sick. The thought of a little kid hiding in a cupboard or under a bed or just praying that they'll be okay breaks my heart. Why don't regular people pick this stuff up? Where are the teachers and the friends and the strangers that catch a glimpse of something that's not quite right? Why don't they care? It will never get better, those people need to speak out because so what if you've made a mistake and you look foolish, if you're right, if something wrong is happening you could save that kid from so many years of misery. Someone could have saved me.

I shake those thoughts from my head. I'm going to go up the stairs and work on a few songs, I've still got to finish recording Mrs Hiller's song and it's sounding so beautiful. I can do that; then I can go to bed. I'll slide my desk across the doorway and I'll go to sleep. I can rest and tomorrow can be my new start. The start of my truthful life.

I don't even reach the top of the stairs when my pocket starts vibrating. I pull my phone out of my jeans and it tells me that I have a new message from Kurt. I stop still half-way up the stairs.

All I can think is that the message had better _not_ be from Kurt because Kurt is driving and if he's driving _and_ texting at the same time I won't be able to sleep until I know he's home safely. I open the message and I hold my breath.

_Remember you have my number now. Stay safe. Puck & Kurt. X._

I sigh in relief and read it again, just to make sure everything is fine. I can breath again. I relax and type a reply. It's short but it's all that needs to be said.

_Thank you. _

o~o~o

I believe that deer get caught in headlights because their brains don't react quick enough for them to escape the harsh beam of light that shoots from the darkness and precedes their death. There's absolutely nothing they can do to move themselves away from the obvious danger that comes from standing frozen in the middle of a road. The response time just doesn't exist.

I think that I'm the deer. I think I've always been the deer.

My eyes fly open when a crash fills my ears and I don't have enough time to think, I just spring up and out of my bed in time to see my father burst through my door. The desk I used as a barricade crashes to the floor and the thud it creates shakes my knees as my heart starts to race and my possessions fly everywhere. I watch half-heartedly as my pens and pencils spin and roll across the floor.

My father's shouting and screaming at me about something and it takes me a while to understand what he's actually saying. I have difficultly finding that middle ground between his slurring and my awakening. I feel dazed and the sunlight coming into the room is dazzling. I can barely open my eyes. I'm squinting towards the door and my head is killing me.

When my father gets closer to me he's much easier to understand, in fact what he's saying is unmistakable, "You left _me_ here to fuck that disgusting _boy_!"

My jaw tightens instinctively. I feel like we've had this conversation before, because we have, and it was only last night. He mutters something predictably insulting about 'faggots' and HIV and dying slowly and I wonder how I'm related to such a monster. I want to shove his ignorance back in his face but I don't because I'm better than that and I am certainly better than him.

His feet tread heavily as they pound the floorboards and he's clinging to the wall with bent fingers on his way over to me. It's too early for this. I look at my clock, it's only half six.

"I told you I was going out." I try calmly and he just glares at me, his face etched with hatred and distaste. I can't help but question where his hate for me comes from because honestly I can't quite work out why I disgust him so much. I know he hates 'faggots', he tells me that everyday, but why did he hate me when I was so young? Sexuality was the last thing on my mind when I was eight, I spent most of my eighth year crying over my mother and hiding from my father. I didn't have the time to be gay or straight or bisexual or a _child,_ for that matter. I feel a little cheated.

"Don't you fucking lie to me, you shit!" he spits and I suddenly realise that yet again I can't win. Whatever words I choose, they'll be the wrong words, whatever action I take, it'll be the wrong action. I doubt that I can do anything to appease him and placate this situation. I don't think that anything I do could make him go away and leave me alone. Nothing.

"I'm not lying." I say hopefully as his hands grab at my shoulders. I can smell it then, the familiar mix of urine, cigars and alcohol. I feel sick as his fingers dig deep into my skin. He's being unnecessarily heavy handed again.

"Tell me, was he worth it, your dirty little queer?" He shouts and I grit my jaw harshly. Kurt would be worth anything absolutely _anything._ And one things for certain, Kurt is worth more to me than my father will ever mean to _anyone._ I feel resentment rising in my chest. I won't back down. I'm scared but I can't just let him bully me like this.

"You're so fucking ignorant." I say and I completely hate him in that moment, I absolutely detest him. I abhor his vulgarity, his inhumanity and everything he stands for. He's utterly repulsive with his big hands pushing me around as he talks so horribly about a boy who means so much to me. Has he forgotten what it feels like to care about someone so much that your heart pounds as soon as you see them? Has he forgotten what love feels like?

"You stupid shit! You _don't_ talk to me like that! Understand?" He snarls and it's then that he pushes me backwards and up against the window. My back hits the cold glass and I can't help but wince because he really could kill me now. One hefty push and I could go straight through the pane and hit the ground, two stories down.

A lump forms in my throat, I don't want to die like this. A battered body left in a glassy heap to be found by a neighbour who'll just wish they'd _seen_ what had been going on for so long. I don't want to break someone's heart with the sight of my tired, broken dead body, what if a child finds me? My eyes start to fill. _No._ This can't happen, not like this.

"Dad, please, stop. I'm your son." I try desperately and it doesn't stop him dead, not this time. It doesn't seem to make an ounce of difference. He lifts me forwards and I hold my breath as he thrusts me back against the glass with a whack.

"You're a filthy _fag,_ you're not my son!" He shouts and I don't know what I can say to make this better now. I don't know how I can save my own life and that scares me more than anything. There has always been a door or an exit or a word but now, in this moment, there is _nothing._ I start to panic.

"What did I do?" I whisper as he pushes me back into the glass again because if he is going to kill me I'd like to know. I'd like to know what I've done that's so terrible. What about me is so irredeemable that I deserve to die.

He doesn't answer me, of course he doesn't, instead he punches me straight in the stomach. I double over and I'm gasping as he grabs the back of my neck and throws me to my knees. I can feel the skin rip of them. The rush of pain that shoots through my chest is agonising but the sense of relief I feel now I'm away from that window is immeasurable.

"You do _not_ talk to me like that!" He shouts and as I turn around to look at him he spits right in my face. It hits my cheek and starts to slip down my face with the tears I started to cry at some point. I want to vomit.

I reach up to wipe away his spit and I have never felt so belittled in my life, never. I have never ever felt so far away from home. I brace myself for more but it never comes and eventually he stumbles off down the stairs and out the front door.

I'm left kneeling on the floor of my bedroom, with pain pulsing through my body and I wonder once more what I've done to deserve any of this. Wasn't I a good enough child? 

o~o~o

Some people say that when you're truly down-and-out the only person who can pick you back up is yourself. I'd like to ask these people what they suggest doing when you've been down-and-out one too many times because I really have no idea. Not anymore.

A part of me wants to just lie down on the floor and drift away, and who knows, maybe if I hold my breath for long enough I'll just die peacefully. I'd beat being battered to death.

Another part of me wants me to pull myself together and get ready for school because people care about me there and even though I want to just _go away_ I matter to them. I don't think I have it in me to hurt them, any of them, especially Kurt. Not now he knows. He looked sad enough driving me back here last night, if I just laid down and died what would that do to him? It'd destroy him. I can't ruin his life.

It's decided then, I'm choosing life.

I pick myself up and walk over to the door, it takes me longer than I'd like to admit but I get there and that's what matters. I push the desk back up against the door, gather my phone from under a mass of paper and barricade myself back inside. It's still too early for school, I decide to lie on my bed for a while longer. Hopefully I can find a position that doesn't hurt.

When I climb back into bed I wrap myself in the covers and try to relax but I still can't shake the sinking feeling that I have in my heart. I've never felt like this before, I feel so dehumanised. I'm not sure if it's because he _spat _on me or if it's because my father genuinely seems to have lost that filter that tells him to stop when he could actually kill me. I need to talk to someone, I need to hear a voice that doesn't detest me, I need someone to tell me that I matter.

I need to phone Puck.

I reach under my pillow and I pull out Puck's number before I raise my phone and I dial his number. It rings and rings and rings and I feel increasingly stupid. Why would he answer his phone this early in the morning? I've been so foolish, I need to hang up before I wake him, he doesn't need my drama.

I move the phone away from my ear and it's then, when I'm about to disconnect the call, that I hear him speak, "This is Puckzilla."

I have never felt so relieved to hear a voice in my life, a solitary tear slips down my face and I press the phone into my cheek. I'm clinging to it like it's my only lifeline and in a way it is.

"Puck." I say and my heart pounds.

I stare at the ceiling as I wait for him to respond and I try not to weep because I've cried far too much lately and it can't be healthy.

"Blaine?" He asks eventually and he already sounds so serious. A shaky breath escapes me.

"Hey." I say and I want to tell him that I'm fine and that he doesn't have to listen to me if he doesn't want to but I can't because it's comforting- knowing that he's listening to what I have to say even when he's not physically with me.

"Blaine." he starts, "Are you okay?" His voice sounds a little off, he sounds unsure of himself.

I start mumbling apologies, "It's too early, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No. I was already awake." He cuts in quickly and he's obviously trying to reassure me. I'm thankful because it works.

"I didn't know what else to do." I say.

"Has he hurt you?" he asks and I can hear a growl in his voice. My heart starts to pound.

"I'll be okay. I just, I wanted, I don't-"

"Hey, it's okay. You're okay." He says and his tone is lighter, loftier, more comforting.

"I just wanted to hear someone, you know?" I say and I know how childish it sounds but it's the truth.

"I get it. Do you want to tell me about it? Or I can tell you about what I've been doing this morning, if it helps?" He offers and a new wave of relief washes over me. I'm amazed at how he just _knows_ what I need.

I hear a voice in the background and I freeze. I suddenly remember where he is, "You're at Kurt's."

"Yeah, but it's totally fine. Kurt's still in the shower, Finn's fast asleep, so is Carole and Burt's just out on his way to work. No one can hear us. Blaine, do you understand? It's just us. I swear. I wouldn't lie to you." I have to believe him, of course I do.

"I'm sorry." I say and I don't even know why. I feel like such a child.

"Blaine, you have to stop apologising for things you haven't done." he says softly and suddenly it sounds a lot quieter on his end, like he's tucked himself away somewhere. He really does care.

"I thought-" I start but I can't finish. This is very confusing for me, having someone to talk to about my situation. I'm not used to it.

"What did you think? You can say what you want, Blaine, I won't judge you or anything. I'm not that guy." He says and I wonder how he became so wise and so clever. I wonder if I'll be this wise and this clever when I leave here.

"I thought I was-"

"Go on."

"I thought I was going to… die today." I'm whispering but the weight of it all just leaves me.

I feel like I can see that bit of hurt exiting my body and rising through the roof. I won't miss it.

"I'm so sorry, we should _never_ have left you there. Has he gone now?" He asks and he sounds so remorseful. My eyes fill again.

"Y-yeah., he's gone." I say and I can hear him exhale in relief.

"Okay. Go and get dressed and go straight to school. You'll be super early but you'll be safe there." He offers and I'm nodding in agreement- even though he can't see me. I don't mind being early, I'll just be there before Kurt for a change. _Kurt._

"What am I going to say to Kurt?" I ask and the phone is still pressed into my face.

"You're going to tell him what you _want_ to tell him."

"I'm tired of lying to him."

"Then just tell him the truth." he confirms and things seem a little brighter.

"Thank you."

"Try and have a good day with Kurt, okay, he makes everything seem better."

"I will. Good bye."

"Don't be afraid to call me. Take care of yourself. Bye, Blaine."

I disconnect the call and by the time I'm dressed in my uniform, and I've tidied the mess my father made of my room, I'm only half an hour early.

My neck is well coated in concealer, my bag is placed over my shoulder and I'm ready to go.

I'm barely out of my front door when my phone vibrates and tells me that I have a new message from Puck.

I open it and my heart stops because there is no way Kurt told him about the messages I used to send him. I have to close the message and open it again, several times, before I believe it.

It's there, that one word, it's real and it means the _world_ to me.

_COURAGE. _

I pocket my phone and I smile. I can turn today around, I can make today a good day. This is what I've been searching for.

This is my new beginning. 

o~o~o


	8. Chapter 8

o~o~o

While waiting for Kurt I come to the unexpected conclusion that Dalton is at least twice as striking when it's deathly quiet. The empty hallways and the unfilled classrooms are crammed with nothing but peaceful, unbroken silence and soft, lustrous light.

When students aren't indiscriminately strewn across the common room the armchairs look three times as comfortable and the cushions seem four times as plush. It's almost a shame when people start emerging from outside and clutter the quietness with their quick conversations and abrupt bursts of laughter. There's a lot of laughter here; it's a happy morning and even with the morning I've had I feel warmed by it all.

They're all sharing friendly touches and gracious looks and courteous words and I'm inattentively picking cotton from my sleeve. That doesn't last for long though, not when Kurt struts through the door. I don't know how he manages to look so much better than the rest of us, because we're all wearing exactly the same dreary cotton/polyester blend, but he does. Maybe it's the way he carries himself because if you erased the setting he could easily be walking down a catwalk and the entire world could easily be staring back at him in awe. And then, I suppose, it wouldn't just be me gawking at him like a fool, it'd be everyone. Kurt deserves that level of recognition; he's so honourable and so adorable and so compassionate that it almost hurts.

Watching Kurt Hummel walk towards you is an _experience. _My heart is pounding and it's not hammering because I'm scared that I'll have to lie to him because I know I wont, not anymore, it's beating so hard because I can truly see him. In that moment I understand who Kurt really is. His flawless posture, his even gait, his enhanced confidence as he walks around this school, it all just blows me away. I know that I'm watching Kurt become the person he has _always _wanted to be and it's overwhelming, if I thought about it long enough I'd probably cry. I just want to grab his hands and say: _Oh, _there you are, I've been looking for you forever. And I'd mean it, oh, God I'd mean it.

Kurt falls gracefully into the chair nearest to mine and drops his designer satchel cautiously to the ground before he looks up at me. It's still there, the look of concern he had last night, but he masks it incredibly well and with a face of absolute defiance. A stranger would never see it but I'm _not_ a stranger, I know Kurt and I can see it a mile off. There's something else, settling around Kurt's eyes, and I don't know what to make if it. I just hope he's not going to interrogate me because I would love to have just one single happy day. Today is my fresh start and I am going to try so _hard_ to make it work.

"I hate Finn." Kurt says randomly and I have to pause for a second. I have to give it time to register because I did not expect those to be his first words. It hits me then, we're not going to talk about my father. Not yet at least. I smile, I have to, even if this is just an artful ploy or one of Kurt's sly schemes.

This is what I need to hear right now, especially after this morning, and I think he knows that. Kurt seems to know everything when it comes down to what I need. He picks up the tiny gestures, the guarded uncertainty and the reluctance that I never know I'm physically or emotionally showing. He sees me more clearly than I will ever see myself.

"Finn's your brother now, Kurt, I thought you two were cool?" I offer and he rolls his eyes at me quite viciously. I can't even imagine the depths of the dirty looks he must have been giving Finn earlier. I wonder how much damage Kurt's new brother could have realistically done in the few hours Kurt's been awake and in the forty-ish minutes they probably saw one another for this morning. Surely it's not that much.

"He's so infuriating." Kurt sighs as his cheeks start to turn a frustration-induced red. It makes him look like a painted figurine, a perfect example of porcelain. I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

"Finn's a good guy." I offer genuinely, to which Kurt snorts in a mixed form of scepticism and disbelief. It's this childish, moody, self-indulgent side of Kurt that makes me smile the most. The side of him that's drama for the sake of palaver and diva for the sake of trying. They're quite attractive, in a way, his ballsy mood swings. Kurt doesn't tone himself down and something about that is utterly charming.

"Blaine, if you like him so much, please, feel free to just _take_ him! I'll bring him to your house for free!" Kurt rants, he's about to carry on because he raises a hand but he stops dead.

"I-" he begins earnestly and I just know there's an apology about to burst past his lips because they keep opening and closing and it's almost obscenely mechanical as a gesture.

Kurt doesn't need to apologise to me every time the subject of _home _comes up, I need him to know that, I know that's what's going on here. It never stopped him before, it shouldn't stop him now. I like listening to what Kurt has to say about Finn's bad habits and his Dad's insistence on having increasingly awkward 'talks' with him and Carole's wonderful food. It's oddly grounding for me because I don't have that and I want to treasure it for _him._ Maybe I live my life a little vicariously through Kurt, maybe all of it just keeps my morale up when I can't find anything else to hold onto. Most likely, I'll never know, not for sure.

"It's okay," I say reassuringly, "You're allowed to talk about your family, Kurt."

I watch as the worry tries to squeeze itself from his face. He's trying so hard to be perfect for me but he already is. Surely he knows that?

"Was your dad home last night?" He asks quietly and he looks so serious, the drama of his tiff with Finn is all but forgotten now. None of it seems to matter anymore and it appears that we need to have this conversation right now.

"No, it was quiet." I say in reply because it's the truth and I tell the truth about my father and my home and my life now.

"What about this morning?" He asks probingly and I look at him suspiciously then, that seems a little bit guarded. It feels like there's a right and a wrong answer. I don't know where this is going and it does make me a little uneasy but not so uneasy that I'm squirming in my seat. I trust him.

"He came home." I start subtly before I think to add, "But I'm fine, Kurt."

He nods then and something akin to relief takes over his face.

"Thank you. I'm so pleased you're telling me the truth now." He smiles and I can actually feel my brow furrow as he reaches out a hand for me to take. How would he know either way? Is it the way I said it? I take his hand in mine and they hang idly between our chairs, not a single soul has noticed and if they did it wouldn't even matter, not here. These people are our friends.

"I should probably explain. I found Noah in the airing cupboard this morning." There's a smile playing on his lips as he recalls the memory and that makes me smile right back at him.

He squeezes my hand a little.

"You did?" I say, not entirely sure what that means. Either he's leaving out details or my brain is especially muddled today.

"Blaine, you should have seen it, he's was literally _in the closet_. Anyway, I saw him stuffing his phone into his jeans and I just assumed it was you? It was you, wasn't it?" He asks and his eyes meet mine as I finally understand what's going on. That's why everything went so quiet on Puck's end of the phone this morning, he locked himself in a tiny, dark room so we could talk alone. A surge of emotion surges through my chest, Noah Puckerman is a gentleman.

"I'm so sorry-" I start, suddenly feeling bad about the fact that I can talk to Puck but not Kurt about my troubles. It's not his fault, I need to tell him that, it's not because Puck's better or nicer or anything stupid like that, it's just because he _understands_. Honestly, I'm glad Kurt could never truly understand the situation because that means he's had a better life and if anyone deserves it, it's Kurt.

"Hey, I'm not criticising you." He cuts in gently, "It's a good thing, you talking to Noah."

He gives my hand another firm squeeze.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you, Kurt." I continue, feeling the need to explain myself.

"I don't care _who_ you call, Blaine, just as long as you call someone. I care about you, a lot." He says and the sincerity in his voice matches that in his eyes. I can feel my heart swelling.

"I care about you too, Kurt. I hope you know that?" I offer and he grins before he stands up and comes to sit on the arm of my armchair, our hands still attached. His body is so warm, I can feel it as our legs touch, the heat of him.

"Of course I know, that's why I smile. You make me so happy." he says and I can feel a lump forming in my throat as he touches my face. Oh, _Kurt._

"You make me smile too." I offer quietly as I try to keep my emotions in check.

"Is it this hideous uniform?" he beams as a laugh escapes him, "When I look at myself in a mirror, or in any other available shiny surface for that matter, I never quite know whether to sob or smile."

A snort of laughter slips out of me and I think that today I fell for him. _Truly_ fell for him. Mr Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. 

o~o~o

I can remember when lunchtimes at Dalton used to be one big, bland, boring span of time. I'd spend my lunch actually studying or doing my homework or writing music or arranging a cappella's or doing something else verging on serious academia. Not anymore. Now that Kurt's here lunchtimes are infinitely more entertaining.

Puck has been texting me all day, it started in a totally supportive way, with him telling me that life would get better and that I should cling to those happy moments- however fleeting they feel. He's being sweet and honest and has the tendency to text an affirmative - _Dude!_- when he agrees with something. I try to imagine Kurt ever sending me a text with the word 'dude' in it and it's so unholy that I have to wipe the notion from my brain.

The latest texts have veered off somewhat. Now we're just talking about whatever comes up and I think that these texts are what will make us good friends. And I hope that they do.

_Dude! Kurt has his panties in a twist because Finn brought him milk. Like he does for Finn and left it on his dresser._ I'm trying to understand what went on between Kurt and Finn this morning because I'm curious, I know curiosity killed the cat, but I doubt talking to Puck about this situation is going to result in my death.

_That's a problem? _I text back.

_When he got out of the shower there was a circular milky stain on the wood. He went mental dude. _I have to laugh, I can imagine him freaking out. He probably still had a towel wrapped around his head when he started shouting.

I'm texting Puck again when Kurt appears in the flesh, in the common room, with a huge neon blue folder clutched tightly in his hands. I can already tell where this is going. He needs help or reassurance or both.

"Blaine, please tell me you're not busy?" He says, dropping his folder on the table with a thud. I flinch as the sound breaks the silence and Kurt obliviously takes a seat opposite me.

"I'm not busy?" I say teasingly and he shoots me a horrified glance.

"You're not are you?" He asks again and his eyes are wide.

"No?" I try and I'm smiling because he looks so adorable when he's all flustered.

"Blaine, this is serious!" He exclaims. He looks like a neglected puppy and I smile apologetically.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm not busy." I offer seriously and he lets out a huge sigh of relief.

"I'm having a fashion and textiles crisis and it needs to be fixed by next period." He relays quickly and it takes my brain a while to catch up with what's actually being said.

"What's the project?" I say eventually, watching as he flips open the folder and shows me the first sheet of paper that's stuck in there.

"We're designing a duvet set to a list of given specifications and it needs to be done in two days." he's frowning and that's not like Kurt, he's great at this kind of thing. He even makes his own clothes sometimes and I honestly can't tell the difference between Alexander McQueen and Kurt Hummel.

"What are you stuck on?" I ask, hoping it'll illuminate me and I can wipe the look of panic off his face.

"I'm stuck on the pillow cases." He admits with a whisper, like saying he's stuck is a dreadful confession that need never be spoken of ever again. Never ever again.

"You're stressing out over _pillowcases_?" I ask and I can't hold back the laugh that escapes me.

"You don't understand! Do I go for a regular cut or for an oxford cut?" Kurt says and he's waving his hands around like someone's asking him to something awful and unfair and ridiculous. He's genuinely stressed out over a pillowcase.

"What's an oxford cut?" I ask because I'm not_ that _boy- types of pillowcases are not a priority in my life. At least, they weren't, not until right now. Now they matter, like Kurt matters.

"An Oxford cut pillowcase has a 5cm-10cm valance round all four sides. With a hemstitched or corded decoration around the inner edge of the valance. Like this, see?" He says flipping through his folder and showing me a picture. It has a really fancy border around it's edges and honestly it does look good.

"Oh, that is nice." I say and Kurt grins at me. Nodding to himself as the tension starts to leave his body. His shoulders relax a little and he looks a little less terrified.

"What do you think about the filling? Do I opt for foam, feather, down or synthetic?" he asks genuinely and I have no idea what to say because he's not even showing me accompanying pictures now.

"All of them?" I offer in blind panic and he actually gasps.

"Oh, for the love of Gaga. Blaine, _seriously_, I'm not surprised you didn't take this class." I think I should be offended on some level but I'm not because the look he's giving me is priceless. It's just another thing I love about him, I think, another part of Kurt I adore. He has so many interesting parts to him, he's not a box and there are more than four sides to him. I respect that. I'm not a box either.

"Hey, I _can_ sew." I say, defending myself because it's true, I'm not that helpless.

"Wait, really?" He stops fiddling with his folder and looks at me intently.

"Yeah, I do have _some_ homely skills, Kurt. Just nothing too fancy." I confirm and he gives me a huge smile. It's breathtaking.

"Do you want to help?" He asks suggestively, like I could say no to him on anything.

"If you need me to, I'll help you. Of course I will. Just show me what to do." I offer and with that Kurt moves his chair around the table, lays out his folder and explains his vision. He's talking about cord and colours and swatches and complimentary arrangements and he has never looked so alive.

I watch him as he talks excitedly and my breath halts every time he touches me and I'm not quite expecting it. I wonder if life could always be this good. If I left my house tonight or tomorrow could this be a permanent reality? Do people really live in this much harmony? I'm not sure but I do hope so.

I wonder then, if we'll ever get together, Kurt and I, as a couple. Our Dalton friends think it'd be great, they tease us with it all the time, but I'm not so sure. Would Kurt ever truly want someone like me? I mean, I'd take Kurt in a flash, to me he's perfect, he's undamaged and he's beautiful.

I'm just not sure that I can be _his_ perfect, or anyone's perfect, but I have to hope that I am because without hope what do I have?

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take a quick look at it as Kurt starts rooting through his neon blue folder again. I smile to myself then and look over at the boy sitting so closely to me. Puck's timely words echoing through my head- _Stay brave, Blaine. _

o~o~o


	9. Chapter 9

o~o~o

The whole world has a natural order. I come to this conclusion as I'm walking home alone from the café where Kurt and I have just spent a rather fleeting hour together. I bought us both Grande Non-Fat Mocha Latte's, at Kurt's insistence, because apparently the amount of sugar and fat and cholesterol in my usual choice isn't a 'healthy heart' option and since his dad's heart attack Kurt's been cracking down on everyone's poor diet choices. I didn't make a fuss about it because I'm not a fussy person and I like his favourite coffee almost as much as I like mine anyway; so I'd have nothing to complain about really. Not that I would complain, you understand, because Kurt would start staring at me with those ridiculously beautiful eyes and I'd cave anyway. Maybe it's a weakness but most likely it's Kurt's cunning because when he looks at you with that slightly dejected face your heart stops beating, at least mine does.

It was on my way home, after our after school coffee date, that the theory roots itself inside my brain. It hits me when I'm crossing the street, like a brick to the face, and my whole world gets a new perspective. I realise that the whole world has a definitive, unmovable order and that it's this same inevitable order of decay that continually results in the world's tragedy and corrosion. Maybe it even causes mine.

I can't help but wonder what it all really means for me. That inevitable knowledge of failure and hopelessness hanging over me all the time- especially on days like today, when I've tried so _hard _to be optimistic and fortunate. It's hard to know what to make of it all, I struggle to find a balance in my head as countless people continue passing me in the street. I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle for the first time in my life and I don't know what to do about it.

What I do know is this- every beginning has an end, every start has a finish, every dusk has a dawn, every birth ends in a death, every treasured moment will be forgotten and every beautiful thing in the world will eventually fade away into an obscure, unpleasant nothingness.

I can't shake away the knowledge that I will fade away, that Kurt will fade away, that Puck will fade away, that our lives will fade away and that this town will fade away. I can't ignore that and I suddenly feel very foolish for masquerading around Dalton under the guise of happiness all day. What am I trying to prove because as soon as I'm dead and buried no one will remember me, not a soul will know how hard I tried today to forget the unpleasant, distasteful feeling that my home brings me? What was I thinking? I know that pretending to be happy isn't the same as actually being happy- it's not even _close._ So why did I even bother when the world has already set me up for a bad ending?

As I walk the last few blocks towards my house, all I can think about is how dumb I've been. I've been so ridiculously stupid that it makes me want to cry. I feel like I've let myself down, I feel like I've tricked myself into something verging on subconscious sabotage and it's soul destroying. I built myself up today, I hoped that I could be happy, when I knew that realistically it was all going to fall through; sooner than later. In my heart I always knew it would be sooner so why did put myself through it. Don't I suffer enough?

Had I genuinely hoped, for a spilt second, that my father would just leave me alone if he understood the day I'd had with Kurt? I must have and that worries me more than anything else in the world.

Had I honestly wished, for however ephemeral a moment, that my father would be kinder to me just because of the hopeful messages Puck has been sending me all day? I must have and by believing such a ridiculous notion I've done nothing but hurt myself and I can shake the feeling that I've done something terribly wrong- because why would I want to subconsciously_ hurt _myself? Why do I feel the need to wound myself that little bit more? Do I want my mind to be as battered as my body, is that what I want?

I can't help but criticise my own intentions as my house comes into sight:

_You're so stupid, Blaine, you're so, so stupid! Where's your hope now you little faggot? Where's your strength now?_

I stop still on the pavement and I bite my lip and I wonder when my inner voice turned into that of my father. When did he take up residence in my brain? When did I start calling myself a faggot? I feel an inexplicable need to apologise to myself. When did I lose this much _control,_ when did I lose myself? Am I still here, really?

I think maybe I'm gone.

My eyes fill as a surge of bitter realisation rushes through my chest and my feet start moving again. I see it as plain as day- I can _never_ fix this. Any of it. I have absolutely no control now; I'm even losing control of myself and that terrifies me because what if I turn into him? What if I become the monster?

At some point, my life grew out of control and it became much bigger than I am. It grew taller and wider and wilder and it's absolutely _suffocating_ me now . I don't know what to do but I already can't see myself properly, I can't see my dreams for clouds and I don't know if I can do it. I don't know anymore because I'm terrified of my own brain. I'm frightened of myself.

_I need to get away,_ I think, _I need to turn around right now,_ but my feet wont listen to me. I think my feet only listen to my father. 

o~o~o

As soon as I set a foot inside my house I feel empty and scared and loveless and I know, _I know, _that's not how a home is supposed to feel. Kurt's home and family all but confirmed that for me last night. The Hummel-Hudson family are so welcoming and so generous that even the once untameable Puck practically lives there now and I've never seen another person conduct themselves so gallantly and honourably whilst still maintaining such a playful teasing streak. I know that both Finn and Kurt's family have helped him a lot, they've helped him find a balance within himself, and there's absolutely no other way to correlate the Puck that used to bully Kurt and the Puck that now calls Kurt 'Princess' with nothing but friendliness.

I want them to take me in too, I want to be safe and unthreatened, I don't want to be so terrified all the time, I don't want to have the threat of injury hanging over me everyday day and all night. I don't want the heart stopping anticipation of waiting for him to hit me or kick me or spit on me. I don't want to barricade myself in my bedroom like a child because I'm not that child anymore. I'm not.

My father is so heavy handed these days and I'm sure that he's lost the judgement that he once had in his head. That little part of him that told him to _stop_ is gone. The part that told him not to not bruises me in places where anyone could just see what he does to me isn't there anymore. He doesn't care now.

I'm afraid of him all the time, I sneak around my own house like I'm trespassing but I'm not because this is supposed to be my house too. That's all I've ever wanted. I know it must sound dreary and pathetic but it's true. I'm not lying to Kurt anymore so why should I lie to myself? This is my life and it's not right. Not anymore.

I hang my bag over the banister and pause to listen for any signs of life, it's become a routine now. This isn't right.

I can't hear anything but when I inhale I catch it, that putrid waft of alcohol, cigars and urine- he is here.

I contemplate trying to sneak up the stairs but it's rare that I can pull it off because the seventh step creaks and when I'm rushing I always miscalculate and stand on it. It always ends up worse when he knows that I'm trying to avoid him. Maybe that's why I always answer him when he calls me, I don't want it to be any worse than it already is.

"Faggot! Come here!" He suddenly roars from the living room and my heart starts to pound. A familiar sickness rises through my body. I instinctively close my eyes and apart from the interlude of school I think that today could become one of the worst days of my life. I can't handle this twice in one day. This isn't right.

I walk to the living room door cautiously and peer around frame, muted light softly stretching shadows across the walls. I look behind myself, I'm still closer to the exit, it's okay, Blaine, breathe.

Breathe.

"What do you want?" I ask and I expect to see my father sprawled on the sofa, perhaps with a trail of foul, noxious vomit running down his clothes but that's not what I see. Instead he's sitting quite straight but that's not what I'm staring at. That's not what makes me take a step backwards. The stranger who sits next to my father is what makes me reverse. I shake my head, I don't know what's going on here and I'm scared. This isn't _right._

"Get your fucking ass back in here!" My father shouts and when he shouts I loose all of the free will I may have had up to that point. There's something about the way his voice echoes around me that terrifies me. It absolutely petrifies me.

I step forward and I feel humiliated. I'm seventeen, I shouldn't feel so helpless.

"Closer!" he shouts and I do, I move towards him and his drunken friend like I'm a zombie under the influence of mind control and maybe I am. It can't be healthy, the amount of fear I feel in this moment.

"I'm sorry." I say automatically and his friend just laughs at me, it's a long exaggerated chortle and I wonder why I'm being so humiliated and why I'm still_ just standing here _taking it. This is how I know that I'm not courageous, a courageous person wouldn't just stand on the spot and apologise for something they have no business feeling sorry about, especially not in front of a stranger, it's so degrading.

I feel sick.

"Get down on your knees _faggot!" _My father barks and I don't know what to do. I want to tell him to go and fuck himself because I'm a human being for fucks sake! I'm a _person_ and I have feelings and pride and dignity too! I have hopes and dreams and rights and I'm not a punch bag or a door mat or an insignificant speck of dust floating around the universe. I'm an actual person who has actual connections with other actual people in our actual world. And I fucking matter too!

Wait.

I _do _matter, don't I?

My brow furrows and I'm on the verge of crying now because I'm so confused and I'm so fearful and this situation is too unpredictable for me to bear. I don't want to die like this, in front of this stranger who just laughs at me. Why is this funny?

I don't say a single thing in protest to my father, my jaw seems to be hard-wired with apologies and my heart pounds as I kneel down in front of him and the stranger who has invaded my life and my privacy and my pain. It was never meant to be like this.

"I'm sorry." I say quietly, as my knees hit the floor and my heart sinks down with me, and I don't know if I'm apologising to them for being too slow or to Kurt and Puck because I'm letting them down or to myself. Maybe I'm just saying sorry to all of us.

"Crawl towards him. Now!" my father says and I sit back on my heels at that, I have to look at him. I drag my eyes from the floor. The fact that I literally have no idea what's happening and I don't know why I follow his instructions so faultlessly suddenly scares me so much that I can hear my own heart beat in my head. I just want to know what's happening to me. Why can't he just tell me what he wants, why does there always have to be this stupid, awful moment where I'm so scared and I so lost that all I can do is cry? My eyes fill then and I'm staring at him and I'm pleading for him to just let me go. I won't tell anyone, I won't, I swear. Just let me get up and go. _Please._

"I-" I begin earnestly but nothing follows and my father starts to stand, wavering slightly he steps towards me; casting frightful moving shadows.

I flinch as his hands shoot out and he pushes me towards the floor. My forearms hit the ground first and I contemplate just lying down and letting them get on with it.

"When I say crawl, you fucking _crawl!"_ He shouts and a sob escapes me as I shuffle towards the stranger on my hands and knees. This, I think, feels worse than been spat at because it's a weird act of public humiliation and that makes it so much worse. I thought this was private, I thought we didn't talk about this. After I've worked so _hard _to keep all of this a secret it's like a punch in the gut. I can't help but wonder when he started bragging about what he does to me in a filthy little bar. A wave of nausea passes over me. I can't even look at them now. I'm staring at the stranger's feet and he's too close, his feet are a few inches away from my face and I don't like that. Anxiety rushes through me and my breathing starts to change.

"Now show him." My father says and I don't know what he's asking me to do. I can't see what he wants. I can't see anything but tears and dirty work boots.

"Wh-what?" I say shakily and I feel so overwhelmed, I feel like I'm witnessing this entire situation through a peep hole. I don't feel like I've just physically crawled across the floor like I'm completely insignificant and meaningless. I feel so stupid, I feel so vulnerable, I feel so damn _worthless._

"Take your fucking shirt off!" He screams from behind me, like I'm supposed to have understood him the first time, and I want to look back at him to see if he thinks this is funny too because his friend hasn't stopped sniggering. He hasn't stopped moving his feet either and it's making me flinch. If he's going to kick me in the face with his steel-toed boots I want him to do it now because my heart feels like it's going to burst.

"_Why?"_ I ask softly and my tears are sliding off my face and hitting my hands.

"Show him what you let me do to you." He spits and it sounds like a challenge but I don't want to be challenged or poked or prodded or pushed around. I just want to get out. I want a normal, happy, boring life. I'll trade in every single one of my dreams and all of my talents. Everything. You could take _everything._ I just want to _go away._

"Show him _now_ or I'll show him for you!" My father snarls and my heart almost stops as I look up to the stranger and see the grin he has plastered on his face. There is not a trace of humility there, not a trace of sympathy or pity or anything other than a look of absolute amusement. Some things shake my faith in this world and it's people, the man who I'm kneeling before, he's one of them.

My father knees me in the back.

I do the only thing I can.

I slip my Dalton blazer slowly down my shoulders and I feel so vulnerable, this uniform means a lot to me, it's not just clothing it's symbol of what my life could be like and they're just taking it away from me.

When it's finally off I sit back on my heels again and start folding it before I place it neatly on the floor, right next to me. I don't know if I do this because I need to slow the situation down or if it's a strange psychological reaction- like those people who fold all of their clothes and lay out their watches and wallets before they jump off bridges or in front of trains.

Is this my farewell?

I take my time unbuttoning my shirt because my fingers are shaking and the buttons seem to be shrinking. I feel like they're laughing at me too, because I'm such a stupid joke, and I all I can think is: when did I miss the punch line?

By the time I'm pulling my shirt down my arms I wonder how I'm going to survive this because the way the stranger is staring at me tells me he wants a piece of the action because _just look at me. _My chest and my arms are black and blue and there are nicks and scars all over me. I'm obviously too stupid to ask for help, so why not, right? What exactly has he got to loose here? He's got a cowardly little faggot at his feet, it must be his lucky fucking day. He licks at his lips and I feel queasy.

"So many bruises." The stranger whispers but his voice is dark and heavy and that unsettles me. I've seen that look before, I've seen that kind of glance and I want to grab my shirt to cover myself but I don't because my body still won't do what I need it to.

"Faggot practically_ asks_ for it." my father snarls and I have never felt so betrayed in my life. As I kneel before the stranger with my discarded shirt and blazer lying stiffly next to me I have never felt so exposed. All of my bruises are on show and it's shameful, I'm ashamed of myself, I want to disappear.

"Make him beg you for it." The stranger interjects boldly and I grit my jaw as my father makes a noise of agreement from behind me. I don't deserve this, do I?

No, I think, I don't deserve any of this.

"Ask me to hit you." My father says icily from behind me and my head starts spinning.

"_No._" I whisper in reply; with all the defiance I can muster because haven't I been humiliated enough?

"DO IT!" He shouts and I flinch, the stranger laughs darkly again but my father isn't in the mood for laughing. He grabs at my shoulders and digs his fingers into my skin, his fingertips feel like fire. I know that he can see where he's marked me before, I know he's making it hurt this much on purpose.

"Stop it, _please._" I beg and I can't see straight for my own tears now, my head is throbbing. He nudges me harshly with his knee and I rock forward a little, the movement forces a sharp sob out of my body and I wince. I sound so awful, I sound _so tired._

I need this to stop.

"Dad, _please?"_ I try, not daring to look behind me, and I hope for a small flicker of understanding but I don't get it. My father just slaps me painfully across my face like it's nothing. Like I'm nothing. I gasp as the sting surges through my cheek.

"Ask me to hit you." He challenges again and I shake my head, no, I _don't _want this and I won't ever say that I do because where would that leave me then? I'd have absolutely nothing to cling on to. _Nothing_. I can feel myself breaking.

"I _can't._" I whisper and the stranger reaches out and grabs my jaw. His hands are heavy too, like my father's, and his skin is rough. He squeezes my face and I try so hard not to look at him as he adds more and more pressure my his grasp but I can feel my face contorting anyway. He's still getting what he wants, it makes no difference to him if I look him in the eye or not. But it matters to me.

"You're too fucking disobedient for my liking." He confesses with an eerie calmness and it's with a deadly, steady tone that he adds, "I'd take my belt to your back."

His breath ghosts against my cheek and it's repulsive but I'm not focused on that, I'm not even focused on me, I'm just afraid that his man may have _a child_ at home. And I'm even more afraid that his child has belt welts all over their body. I feel _sick. _

I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I'm going to _throw up._

"That works?" My father asks evenly and I'm almost disappointed in him.

"By the time my eldest is ten he won't say boo to a goose!" The stranger says proudly and I retch instinctively. My whole body heaves and I'm glad I haven't eaten in a while because my food would be all over the floor. They're both absolute _monsters._

"Maybe I should try that." My father muses aloud and I just wait for the sound of a belt buckle like it's inevitable. Because it is. The stranger is goading him and my father is either too ignorant or too stupid to care.

Even though I'm expecting it, when the clank of the metal reverberates around the room it shocks me. He's actually going to do it, he's going to hit me with his belt in front of this stranger like it's _nothing. _I can't stand this anymore. I can't do this because I'm worth more than this. I know I am because I can't think of a single person who would deserve this. I can't think of a single situation that could justify this and all of it, everything, it isn't worth the sum of my dreams or going to Dalton or whatever else I've been telling myself. I was wrong. I've been so _wrong._

I don't need to stay in this house, with this man, this is all too much for me, it's all too dangerous and I'm going to get myself killed one day and then everything would have been pointless.

And then there's Kurt and I _love_ Kurt. I love him and I don't want to break his heart. I can't let him down, I can't just stay here and let my father hurt me anymore because this _isn't right._

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up!

_Blaine, move your fucking legs,_ I'm screaming at myself.

It's then that something remarkable happens.

I leap to my feet and I glance behind myself quickly before I dart for the door.

I don't even know what I'm doing, it's all just _happening. _

He's fast enough to keep up with me and as I race through the hallway his fingertips ghost my back continually.

His finger nails catch my skin occasionally and I wince but I keep moving. I need to get out of here.

I am better than this. _I am._

I make it to the front door and I burst past the wood.

The cold evening air blasts my naked skin and as hurry down the path my legs are shaking but I can't stop. Not now. I'm so close. I'm almost_ free._

I make it past the front gate and I run.

I run and I run and I run and I run and I run and I run.

And I _never_ look back. 

o~o~o

When my feet finally come to a halt I find myself staring across the road at a building I'm very familiar with. I'm standing outside the café that Kurt and I drink in and it's comforting to know that my subconscious chose to bring me here.

I don't linger for long because people are staring at me and children are pointing fingers and it's unnerving to be the 'topless, bruised boy' that everyone needs to look at.

I don't really know what I'm doing but I walk around the side of the café as quickly as I can before I slip behind it. I'm suddenly hidden by several large dumpsters and I'm away from the prying world. I'm glad because I must look frightful with my bright red eyes and my battered body.

I sink down onto the concrete and I instantly feel safe again. I feel like I can breathe. I feel like no one can see me as I lean into the wall and pull my knees up under my chin. This is all incredibly depressing if I think about it. I feel safer crouching half-naked behind a dumpster than I do in my own home. A surge of emotion rushes through me and my brain is still on auto-pilot.

I reach into my pocket and fish out my phone.

I don't even think.

I just dial.

It rings and rings and I start to worry that he's not there and I need to talk to somebody because what just happened to me was so wrong in too many ways for me to understand.

The line connects and I wait for him to speak first because I can't say: _Hey, Puck, my dad just forced me onto my knees in front of a stranger, then he made me crawl across the floor and he humiliated me before he took his belt off and I just couldn't.._

"Blaine?" The voice on the other end says and he sounds like he's been running like maybe he ran to the phone and that makes my heart pound. He already sounds so worried and it breaks my heart.

I start to cry softly then and I can feel the tears sliding down my face. I'm so relived, I'm so glad that I can hear his voice, I'm so thankful that he always makes the time to answer me. Just like he promised me he would. I don't know what I'd do without Puck, he helps to ground me and rationalise my chaos.

"Blaine," Puck starts again and his words are chosen so carefully that I have to hold my breath as he talks, "You need to tell me if you're okay. Right now."

I want to answer him but I can't say anything, there's a lump in my throat and tears are still pouring out of my eyes and I just can't talk right now.

I push my knuckles in between my teeth and for the first time in my life I feel truly exhausted.

"Blaine? I need you to speak to me, okay, you're freaking me out?" There's not even a hint of humour in his voice and it makes me take a deep breath.

"Puck." I start shakily, testing my ability to speak. I sound dreadful.

"_Thank God._" he says and the relief is pouring out of him, "Are you okay?"

" No." I say honestly and I can hear him holding his breath as I continue, "I'm not okay anymore. It isn't _right._" I say softly as my voice breaks, I don't sound like myself at all and I can only hope that it doesn't worry Puck too much.

"_Okay._" He whispers to himself before he starts again- with his slow, careful words, "Do you need an ambulance?"

"No." I say eventually and tears are still streaming out of my eyes. My head is throbbing.

"Are you telling me the truth because I _need_ to know if you need help? This is really important." he asks again and I can hear him moving around now.

"I'm not hurt." I say, hoping to reassure him though I'm sure that my voice isn't convincing. Puck is quiet for what seems like forever.

"You sound hurt, Blaine." he says before he makes a strangled noise. Then he gathers himself enough to say, "I'm really worried about you."

"I feel so-"

"Tell me. It's just you and me."

"Puck." I say, as a new wave of tears fill my eyes, "I feel so…. _humiliated._"

A sob bursts past my lips before I can stop it and I feel so stupid.

"What has he done to you?" Puck asks and is voice is harder now, he sounds so protective and it makes me cry harder.

"Shhh." He says soothingly, "Please, don't cry." I hear him sniffle and I wonder how long he's been crying too.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't you _ever _be sorry, do you understand?"

"I'm so sorry."

"Blaine, stop it."

"I'm so _sorry._"

"Stop it."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Blaine, stop! You haven't done _anything_ wrong." He says passionately but the force of his voice just makes me feel worse. He shouldn't care so much about me, I barely even know him.

"I'm so scared all the time." I confess childishly.

"I know you are." he says with understanding before he adds, "Can I hear cars? Blaine, where are you?"

"I had to get out." I whisper honestly because it's true and I like telling Puck the truth.

"Tell me where you are." he says and it's not a questions, he's not giving me a choice on this but I'm scared because what if my father has somehow tapped my phone? I know how stupid that sounds, because he can barely stand, but how ever irrational it is it still makes me anxious.

"I _can't._" I start before trying to explain myself, "Puck, I'm sorry but I-"

"Blaine, listen to me," he cuts in and he's sounding so sincere and so protective again that it makes me feel warm, even though it's freezing, "I promise you, you'll be safe. I've never _ever_ lied to you and I'm not about to start now. I know that you're really, really scared right now but I need you to tell me where you are. I need to make sure you're safe, Blaine, and I need to know where to send Kurt."

_Kurt,_ he wont even be home yet. I close my eyes. I'm messing everything up.

I take a deep breath and say, "I'm behind the café that Kurt and I go to."

Puck's moving around again.

"Are you safe there?" he asks gently but I still can't open my eyes.

"I think so."I whisper and he lets out a shaky sigh of relief.

"Okay, that's good. You just stay right there and Kurt will be there soon." he says and I'm suddenly terrified that he's going to leave me.

My eyes fly open.

"Don't! Please, don't leave me, please, I-"

"I'm _not_ hanging up on you, Blaine." he says purposefully and I nod my head even though he can't see me. I feel like a child as he carries on, "I'll talk to you until he gets there and even longer if you want me too, okay?"

"I'm so sorry. I'm such a stupid mess. You must regret giving me your number." I mutter and Puck makes an utterly dejected sound.

"Listen to me." he says, "I will never regret giving you my number, Blaine, _never, _do you understand? You have to stop putting yourself down all the time. You're not stupid, no way. Kurt is in love with you and do you know what that means? It means you're smart and funny and _beautiful._"

"_No,_ I'm not. He said that I was-"

"Don't you believe a single thing he's told to you, okay? Not for a single second because, Blaine, all the stuff that he said, he said it to hurt you and control you and you have to know that you're so much better than that."

"But _I am _stupid, why else would I have stayed for so long?" I ask honestly and he pauses for a second, this answer's not as quick to come as the others.

"You stayed for the same reason I stayed. Do you think_ I'm_ stupid?" He asks and he sounds so vulnerable in that moment that it almost scares me.

"No! Of course not." I say quickly and he lets out a shaky breath.

"Then you're not stupid either. We're just two kids who had too much faith in humanity. That's _not _our fault, Blaine, it's theirs." He confides openly and for the first time in my entire life I believe that none of this is my fault.

I didn't make this happen.

I didn't deserve this.

I'm not stupid.

I cling to my phone as I listen to Puck talk and I wait for Kurt to appear and save me from my old life.

I am never going back there.

_Never._

I'm going to live the life I've dreamt of. 

o~o~o


	10. Chapter 10

I hope you're all coping with me posting so many chapters at once! And I hope you're enjoying this (as much as you can) if you're reading all of this for the first time. I'd love to know what you think.. either here or on tumblr (nataliescourageclub) sometime! 3

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><p>o~o~o<p>

_Every cloud has a silver lining, _that proverb has never been as important to me as it is tonight. While I've been crouched on the concrete waiting for Kurt I've had the time to reflect on how lucky I am to have met Puck. I know that I haven't known him for long but he's not just the kid with the mohawk who hangs out with Finn and talks too much. He's so much more than that, he's an astonishing, sensitive, considerate person and if I didn't have him to talk to I don't know where I'd be right now. Most likely though, I'd still be at my house and a belt would be cutting through my skin. I close my eyes tightly. I'd rather take Puck any day.

In fact, I'd rather be eternally seated behind this dirty dumpster, with the cold breeze forcing shivers from me every few seconds, than step a single foot in that house ever again. That part of my life is over now because what happened tonight was too much. Every day something worse manages to happen to me because of my father and I can't even imagine what could be worse than what happened tonight. How many other 'friends' would my father bring around to our house? How many other unnerving demands would he make of me? There's absolutely no way of knowing, none. Besides, I like to believe that I have more self respect than that and I know that must sound ridiculous because it sounds ridiculous in my head but even I have a _limit. _Even I can recognise when something is too out of control for me to handle. I can cope with the hard punches and the sharp slaps and the vicious kicks and the bigoted name-calling because I can stand up against that. I can make myself be strong enough for it all but I can't do what he was asking tonight- not _that. _

Panic rises in my chest again so I press my phone into my face and close my eyes; I let the rest of the world fall away. Listening to Puck's voice genuinely calms me down, like talking to Kurt does, and before I know it I'm not crying anymore. I'm not saying that Puck talks and then suddenly my life is all rainbows and star-dust because I know I'm still caught deep in the eye of a storm. Puck's been talking to me for about half an hour and even though I'm not crying my face is still damp. Noah Puckerman isn't a 'cure-all' tonic for sadness but he is a very good friend - a friend who seems to know all the right words to say and all of the appropriate pauses to make. Sometimes I just need to pause the chaos; I need time to exist without fear and anxiety- so I can remember what it's like to feel okay. Kurt and Puck, they let me feel okay and that's all I've ever wanted.

Puck laughs softly then and the sweet sound of it drags me out of introspective observation and back into my street-light coated reality.

"So, then I told him to go fuck himself. Can you believe that?" Puck asks and I feel guilty that I haven't been listening to him properly because I know that he's upset too and that he's trying so hard to be strong enough for the both of us.

I can hear the strain in his voice sometimes but that's only because it sounds like my own. I owe Puck so much and I really wish that knew how to thank him better. We still don't truly know each other and yet he gives me so much of his time without ever making me feel like a burden or a liability. I'm so glad he's here, I need to tell him that, right now.

"I'm glad you're here," I start softly, genuinely, hoping he'll understand what I'm trying to say to him, "Even though you're not here in person, I'm so thankful." I add because it's the absolute truth and I'm finally starting to sound like myself again. A small ounce of relief washes over me. My heart beat slows, my shoulders relax.

"I'm just glad I can help you." he says delicately and I can tell he wants to add something but he holds himself back. There are words trying to come off the tip of his tongue but he draws them back inside and locks them away.

"Puck, I feel _so_silly." I say eventually and it's true, I feel like an idiot because now I'm a little more in control of myself I realise how weak I'm being. I'm feeling stupid all over again.

Puck must pick up the feelings behind my words because he just says sincerely, "You're scared, Blaine, you're _allowed _to feel silly."

That, coming from Puck, makes all the difference to me; it means that maybe being weak sometimes isn't that bad. Maybe we're all weak sometimes because who can be brave forever? I'm definitely not brave, Puck has all but confirmed that he hasn't always been so brave and I know for a fact that Kurt isn't brave all the time either. So, maybe it's okay to let bravery slip sometimes but it still feels slightly wrong. I still feel a little disappointing; like I'm a letdown.

"That doesn't make me feel much better." I offer seriously and Puck takes one of his carefully calculated pauses.

"I know but it's true." He says eventually and I find it really hard to doubt a word he says to me. After everything, why would he lie to me now?

"Puck?" I ask swiftly and I sound as uncertain as I feel but I need to know something because my whole world has just been tipped upside down and rearranged. I need to know something important and I can't think of anyone better to answer my query than Puck.

"Yeah?" He asks and he genuinely sounds interested, like he would tell me anything, and who knows, maybe he would.

"Will I always feel this scared?" I ask and my voice sounds so tiny again but at least I can still recognise myself in it and that's what matters to me the most because when I sound like someone else it's horrifying.

"_No_." He says firmly and quickly and the smallest of smiles sketches itself on my face.

"Oh." I say because I'd been hoping for that answer but almost expecting the opposite because my life is just that confusing right now. I don't even have a home anymore, it hits me then- I'm _homeless_now. I'm homeless, I don't have a family and I can't go to Dalton anymore. There's a sinking feeling dropping through my stomach and I'm about to drop into thoughts of desperation when Puck continues and distracts me.

I wonder if he knows what he's just done.

"At first maybe you'll still be scared but eventually you'll realise it's over." he offers and there's a little piece of _hope_tucked away in that sentence somewhere.

I keep losing track of my hope.

"_When_?" I enquire and I sound like a child. How could he possibly answer that, there's not a solid answer.

"I don't know." he says hesitantly, "Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a month, maybe in a year." He's talking like he doesn't want to offer me an answer because there's a chance it could turn out to be a lie and I have to admire that. Puck's adamant he'll never lie to me and that's obviously just as important to him as it is to me. I wonder if that's because he understands this situation and the thoughts that go with it. I wonder if it's because he understands how hard it is to separate truth from lies.

"A year?" I repeat in a shocked whisper because a year is a very long time to wait to feel good again.

"Blaine, you have Kurt, you have me- it won't take you that long." He offers and there's that piece of hope again, I wonder when Puck was able to find so much optimism for himself that he had enough to share with everyone else.

"Oh." I say again because I don't really know what to say to that.

"You'll have days where you feel sad for no reason- even though you know it's because of him- but you just have to find something positive. Without trying to sound too mushy, because my reputation would be obliterated, you have to find love." He says evenly and I can tell he's pulling a strange face at how sentimental that sounds.

"What type of love?" I ask quickly; because it's the first thing that comes into my head.

"Any love. All love is good love, Blaine." He says and I can hear him smile at his own words. I smile too.

"Did you find love?" I ask before I realise how personal that is and how I'm overstepping a line that we probably should have drawn in the sand, "I'm sorry," I say, "You don't have to answer that."

"No, Blaine, it's okay." He says swiftly, even though his voice is a little higher as he continues, "I found a lot of love. I found a great best friend, I found Carole, I found Kurt; I even found Mr. H."

I nod to myself then because I can understand that. Kurt is so naturally loving, Carole is so naturally motherly and Burt seems like a truly great father- like someone you could talk to about anything. And Finn, he might act dumb sometimes but he's as sharp as they come when it comes down to it. I've listened to all the stories Kurt's told me. I know what all of them are like and I know that all of them value love.

Puck has so many good people on his side that I can't help but wonder if I can have them too.

"And you have me too, Puck." I add, not realising that I've said it out loud before it's too late. I want to drag the words out of the phone, push them back into my mouth and shove them deep down my throat because I am over-stepping now. I _must_be.

I wait for an awkward silence or a lengthy pause with just enough space for me to berate myself in but I don't get the chance because as quick as lightning Puck says, "Of course I do. And you'll _always_have me."

My heart starts racing in a good way and apart from Kurt no one else has ever made that happen. So, I know what he's saying is true.

o~o~o

The increasing darkness that surrounds me does two things- it makes me happy because it's easier to hide and stay hidden under the shadows and it terrifies me because I feel too isolated and the street lights make the ugly marks on my skin stand out at least three times as much as they did earlier. And it's so _unattractive._

I know that being afraid of the dark is a common phobia but as a child I wasn't afraid of the dark, not really. I remember being more scared of things like fire because my father's cigars used to fall out of his hands when he passed out and burn things. I remember being scared of going to the doctor because my appointments always coincided with threats and being shouted at for a long time. I remember being scared of stairs because I fell down them quite a few times even though I wasn't a clumsy child. But, anyway, my point is I don't _ever_remember being afraid of the dark. So the fact that it scares me so much right now is absolutely unnerving.

"Blaine?" A voice asks unexpectedly from the other side of the dumpsters and I nearly jump out of my skin, "Are you here?"

"Kurt." I all but whisper and suddenly adrenaline rushes through me and I know that my eyes must be huge.

"Kurt's there now?" Puck says through my phone and I nod because I'm too afraid to speak all of a sudden. Once Kurt sees me like this all of it becomes overwhelmingly _real._

"Blaine, is he there?" Puck asks again, softly, and I snap out of my brief self-enforced silence because I owe Puck real words.

"Y-yeah. He's here." I say but I'm still whispering. I can't help but wonder why I'm so afraid of this situation. What is it that petrifies me?

"Blaine, do you want me to hang up now? I can stay if you want." Puck offers kindly but he's already done too much for me and even though I'm suddenly scared again it's a different kind of scared; because there's no way Kurt would _ever_hurt me. I'm almost embarrassed that I even have to clarify that in my head.

"Yeah." I say definitely, before I feel the need to add, "I'll be okay. Puck. _Thank you."_

"It's okay." he says quickly, "Phone me back if you want to but I'm at Kurt's so I'll see you soon." He explains and I'm glad he's at Kurt's again tonight because I'd really like to see his face and hug him. It's that physical contact thing I have- touch is so incredibly comforting to me and I need it so much right now.

Puck and I exchange quiet, endearing goodbyes and then he's gone and a part of me feels incredibly lost.

"Blaine?" I hear Kurt's voice again and it's closer this time. I drag myself to my feet and by the time I'm standing Kurt is in front of me- all wide eyes and concern. My heart plummets as I take him in, he looks so _upset._

"_Oh my god."_he whispers with shock and his face contorts like he's just been slapped square in the face. I wince because the thought of that ever happening to him makes me nauseous.

"Kurt-" I start, hoping to somehow explain what's actually happening, but I don't know what else to say. My words fail me before they can even form. I'm too busy trying to cover my battered chest with my hands which I _know_is stupid because there's far too much to hide but I can't stop myself. I wonder if it's shame or a need to survive that's making me act this way. I feel like I'm not fully in control of myself again.

"I'm so sorry." Kurt says and he sounds so hollow that I worry about him. I want to ask him why _he's _sorry because he hasn't done anything but I don't get the chance because he steps towards me and I take an instinctive step backwards.

"_Blaine._" he whispers sadly and he's already got tears shining in his eyes. It hurts me that he cares so much, maybe he cares too much. Kurt's pinned too much hope on me, I gave him all that courage and I don't even have enough courage to not step away from the boy who means so much to me.

I feel so useless again.

I watch in silence as Kurt visible struggles with what he can do for the best. I know that this can't be easy for him. I feel awful. I'm about to apologise to him when I remember Puck telling me not to because I have nothing to be sorry for. Instead I just watch as he starts pulling on the sleeve of his Dalton blazer.

"Kurt, what-what are you doing?" I ask and I want to chide myself for stuttering.

"I'm giving you my blazer. You're shivering, Blaine." He says and it's only then that I notice the tremor running through me, how long has that been happening?

He steps towards me cautiously but I don't move away this time. I let him walk straight up to me and drape the blazer over my shoulders. I feel like I finally have my armour back. He pats the material softly over my shoulders and slowly moves his hand to my chest. He looks at me for permission and I can't deny him anything.

I nod, of course I do.

His fingers are soft and as he rubs his hand down my chest I shudder, a violent unpredictable shudder, like that of a trapped butterfly's wing. Kurt moves his hands lower then and when he touches my stomach I wince because it still hurts from this mornings attack and I know the bruise must stand out because it's still that odd shade of violet.

He lingers for a moment and draws his bottom lip between his teeth.

As a tear slips down his face he takes his hands back but not for too long.

He wraps his arms around me softly and we stand there holding each other under the soft glow of the street-light and I feel so loved in that moment that my eyes fill.

"I love you. Never forget that you're not alone." he whispers gently into my ear and I just hold him tighter against my body. I feel like he is accepting me. All of me.

Even the broken bits.

"I love you too." I reply and he starts to run a comforting hand up and down my back.

"We should get you to the car." Kurt whispers eventually and the emotion lingers in his voice as he slowly pulls back from me and wipes both of our tears away. I just nod before I offer him my hand and he immediately takes it.

He leads me to his car as my free hand holds his blazer together. I'm so grateful that he seems to understand that I'm too tired to talk properly about this.

It's not long before we're at his car and he opens the door for me. I climb inside slowly and he helps me with my seatbelt- which means I can stay properly covered up under the protection of his blazer.

Once my belt has clicked in Kurt leans into the car and plants a soft, unexpected kiss on my temple. A surge of heat rushes through me and as he closes the door and walks to the driver's side I can feel my cheeks warming. I really do love Kurt. I hope I can be good enough for him one day. I want to be his _everything._

When he starts the car Kurt looks to the CD player and then back to me as if he's asking me if it's okay to put it on. I understand him perfectly and I nod once. He clicks the stereo on with an extended finger and then he carefully pulls away from the curb.

We head off, in the direction of his house, and I can't help but feel like I'm going home too- surrounded comfortably by the soft sounds of Rodgers and Hammerstein and the even softer sounds of Kurt exhaling in time with the music. My heart keeps skipping beats. I can't take my eyes off him. He's absolutely breathtaking. His pale skin, his bright eyes, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

He sings along so quietly.

I remember this,  
>And I always will.<br>There are new lovers now  
>On the same silent hill,<br>Looking on the same blue sea.  
>And I know Tom and I are a part of them all -<br>And they're all a part of Tom and me.

Hello young lovers, whoever you are,  
>I hope your troubles are few.<br>All my good wishes go with you tonight,  
>I've been in love like you.<p>

Be brave, young lovers, and follow your star,  
>Be brave and faithful and true,<br>Cling very close to each other tonight.  
>I've been in love like you.<p>

o~o~o

As we edge towards Kurt's house I start to worry. I worry about his dad and I worry about Carole and I worry about Finn. I worry about them all knowing about all of this because I've been alone for so long. I've had this all by myself for nine years and I'm so scared of letting people in. I'm scared of not being alone anymore because what does that mean? It means that people will care and that makes me want to cry so much. But I want it, I want to have people care, I want it so much because even though it's not going to be easy people will _love_me. And that's what Puck said I need to feel okay within myself and I want to be okay so much. Not just for Kurt anymore but for me too. I want to be okay so badly that it hurts.

Kurt's been shooting concerned glances at me all the way here- but not too frequently- I haven't felt the need to remind him to keep an eye on the road. I just worry because it's dark and accidents are more likely and I can't lose Kurt, not like my mom. I don't think I could take that twice, just because I'm older that doesn't mean I'm less afraid, if anything I'm _more_afraid. Loss would be much more complicated now I'm older, it'd be much harder to recover too.

When we pull into Kurt's driveway he turns the car off but he doesn't move to get out, instead he reaches up and flicks on the interior light before he turns to me. He's looking at me with absolute sincerity as he reaches out a hand. I reach out too and with our hands entwined I feel like nothing can bring me down. I feel like this is enough for me, enough for me to keep trying, enough for me to rebuild my **courage.**This is everything and much more.

"I don't know what to do." Kurt says softly and I understand what he means instantly, he doesn't know if he should tell his dad and Carole, he doesn't know how much to tell them, he doesn't know how to explain all of this, any of it.

"I don't want them to see." I say honestly as I use my free hand to draw the lapels of Kurt's blazer together, he watches my hands carefully and nods reassuringly.

"That's okay." he says and he tries to offer me a smile but it falls tragically short and his brow creases a little. I hate it when he looks so dejected. I feel responsible.

"I'm so sorry." I say eventually and Kurt, he looks me right in the eyes and he says, "No."

"It'll be okay." he offers then and he leans closer to me, "Slip your arms in the sleeves." he says and I do.

Kurt reaches over when my hands pop out of the sleeves and starts doing the buttons up for me before he looks at me and says, "Shall we do this?"

I don't know what to say, I know what my heart is telling me and I know what my brain is telling me and I know that they're both telling me different things. My heart wants me to do this because I deserve it after everything I've been through but my brain wants me to say no because I'm opening myself up too much. I'd be such an easy target.

"Blaine?" Kurt asks again, a warm, steady hand on my arm.

"Let's go in." I say softly in confirmation but I can't quite look up at him, he simply nods once in reply before he steps out of the car and comes around to my side to help me step out too. I don't need his help but Kurt's offering and it'll make the both of us feel better anyway; so I let him do it.

He offers me his hand then and we walk to his door together. He pushes his key into the lock and it only takes a tiny twist for it to click open and reveal the same warm scents that I smelt yesterday.

Emotion stirs in my chest again, I turn back.

Kurt just squeezes my hand and pulls us both over the threshold.

We're barely in the house when Puck peeks his head out from behind the living room door and moves qickly towards us. When he gets closer I notice that the whites of his eyes are a soft pink and I feel awful. I made him cry.

"Hey." Puck says quietly as he opens his arms wide enough to pull all three of us together and this is what I needed. I feel so loved in that moment, when their arms are wrapped securely around me, and I know then that I'll remember this for the rest of my life. This is the moment that all of my scars and all of my troubles were accepted and embraced by two of the greatest people that I will ever meet. I feel like I could belong.

When Puck finally pulls himself back from us he looks directly at Kurt and tells him that his Dad and Carole are in the kitchen and that they've been wondering why he's taken so long in coming home. I feel incredibly bad. Of course, Puck must notice my discomfort because he looks straight at me then and he says, "Don't worry so much." He wanders off quietly and leaves Kurt and I to it because realistically it always had to be just the two of us- Kurt and I against the world.

Kurt tugs my hand softly then and we walk slowly toward the kitchen doorway. My heart starts to pound when I see Burt and Carole laughing together.

I instantly feel like an intruder; like I shouldn't be here.

I step backwards but Kurt won't let my hand go and that means I can't run away. Not this time.

"Blaine, it's okay." Kurt says softly and even though his voice is so quiet it still manages to catch both Burt and Carole's attention and before I can comprehend what's happening they're both staring at me. I can feel their eyes on me and I start to feel sick because they'll be able to see the bruises peeking from under Kurt's blazer. I want the floor to open up and swallow me because this was a bad idea, a very, very bad idea. I suddenly can't believe I had the _gall_ to come here. Or to phone Puck. They don't even _know_me, why would they care?

I look at the floor and start counting the tiny black and white floor tiles. Go away, go away, go away, go away. I wish I could just go away.

"Blaine?" Carole says softly and I want to ignore her, I do, but her voice is so muted and so strained that I feel like my own mom is in the room and that breaks my heart. I can't do anything but look up at her and as I do I feel the single tear that rolls down my face. I'm so _ashamed_but I can't stop it.

I start to fiddle with my lapels instead and when I realise that I'm drawing attention to the one thing I want to hide from them both I force my hand to my side before I drag my eyes back to the tiled floor.

One tile, two tiles, three tiles, four tiles, five tiles, six tiles, seven tiles, eight tiles, nine tiles, ten tiles, eleven tiles…Burt interrupts my robotic counting when he opens his mouth and three concerned, strained words escape him, _"Kurt, what happened?"_

I squeeze my eyes shut then and I know that there's absolutely no going back. Everything has changed and in my heart I know that this is the right thing to do because I deserve a chance to be happy and I deserve a chance to smile again and to feel safe and to feel unafraid.

I _know_, deep down, that I deserve a chance to grow stronger with the boy who clings so tightly to my hand as he says, "Dad, we really need to talk to you."

o~o~o


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11.**

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><p>o~o~o<p>

I can remember it exactly, the first time that I ever saw Kurt. I remember Dalton being rampant with a sense of anticipation because The Warblers were throwing an impromptu performance in the senior common room. The whole building was filled with so much laughter and so much enthusiasm that when the news spread around I just stood still for a moment, in the middle of the crowd, hoping to process everything and create an extraordinary memory. It was one of those truly beautiful moments in my life and I wanted to file it all away for a rainy day, that unforgettable feeling of being so damn _alive._ I, Blaine Anderson, the eternal underdog, and all of my friends in The Warblers were the reason the whole school was so keyed up. Our performance mattered to our peers just as much as the musicality of it all mattered to me- and it was my _everything._

On that particular day I remember I was running a little late, due to a series of unrelated unfortunate incidents, and I'd just descended the spiralling stairs in a hurry. I was about to take my usual shortcut, to beat the amassing crowds, when Kurt's voice cut clean through the air and hit me. _'Excuse me?' _he had said politely and I had turned right around to look at him then because I'd never heard his voice before. I guessed that he was a new kid, probably hopelessly lost and in need of a little help, he probably needed to know how to get to the common room or something and I could help him with that. After everything that strangers had done for me I saw it as an opportunity to return the favour, maybe I could brighten up the new kid's first day.

When I turned around to look at him, the first thing I saw was the faded sadness that lingered around the corner of his eyes and the hopeful smile that hovered on his lips. It all seemed so familiar to me, so personal, and maybe that's why I grabbed his hand within seconds of knowing him and led him quickly via my shortcut to the common room that he desired to be in. Perhaps I always wanted to be Kurt's friend, right from the start, maybe something inside me just _knew,_because I went into that common room and every single word I sang, I sang them to him. The beautiful outsider with hidden sadness in his eyes and no objections to holding a stranger's hand.

I look down at my fingers now and they're linked comfortably with Kurt's and I can't stop the faintest of smiles that forms progressively on my lips. We've had this from the very start and there's something beautiful about that, I think, there's something so pure and unspoiled about it all.

We're sitting on a sofa in the living room of Kurt's home and Carole and Burt are perched on the coffee table that stands less than a foot in front of us. It didn't take long for us to end up in here, Carole practically ushered us inside and closed the door for privacy as soon as Kurt had mentioned needing to talk to them. There was no private conversation between the parents and there was not a single second of hesitation-it all just happened instantly. Instinctively.

It's extraordinarily quiet in here, it's very intimate and secure and everything feels incredibly heightened- the emotions, the meanings, the touches. I can hear everyone breathing, the steady ballooning and collapsing of lungs, and that lets me know that I'm surrounded by people; that I'm not alone. I can feel the bullet-proof barrier that Kurt put up around us both as soon as we sat down; I can see the worried faces of two adults, who truly deserve to be parents, staring right at me.

"Kurt," Burt begins, getting the inevitable conversation started, as he looks intently between me and his son, "What's going on here, buddy?"

I shift a little.

"There's quite a lot to explain." Kurt replies evenly, in a somewhat forewarning tone, and I can't help but be thankful, though I know that I can't let him be my voice. Not on this.

"We're not going anywhere, honey." Carole interjects softly and out of all of us she's the one who looks the most confused. Though, her confusion doesn't stop her from offering me motherly glances, laced thickly with concern and love, every couple of seconds. I can tell that she wants to hold my hand, or hug me, or do something else that a mother would naturally want to do upon seeing two wide eyed teenage boys but I know she isn't sure if it's the right thing to do; if it's _right_to just reach out give comfort to a boy who isn't your own.

I shift then and I just _do_something, I reach out and I offer her my free hand. Carole looks at me in complete shock before she takes my hand with an emotional smile, kisses my knuckles once and then settles our hands on her thigh. She so soft, she's so warm.

"Blaine?" Burt asks and I turn my head to look at him then. He looks so concerned in that moment and I still can't quite wrap my head around a grown man looking at me that way.

"I've- I've been having a hard time at home." I say quietly and Kurt looks at me once before he squeezes my hand. My eyes flutter shut.

"I-" I start again searching for the right words, the best way to explain everything, "I've been having a very hard time, actually, and tonight I just- I couldn't do _that." _

Nobody makes a sound for what seems like the longest time and I can tell they're all thinking about what I just said and how I phrased it. I wonder if I should have said it differently but it's too late now, I glance at Kurt and he looks both beautiful and upset. His eyes are rimmed with a natural red and even though he looks so troubled I can't help but think how similar the colour is to the natural blush of his cheeks.

"What does that mean, kid?" Burt asks eventually, like he drew the short straw and who knows, maybe he did because it's not like they'd want to have this conversation with me. I'm sure they're both still trying to process the bruises and marks that are continually peeping past the lapels of Kurt's blazer. I'm sure it's incredibly hard for Burt to see me like this because of what it does to his son. I'm sure this is very hard for Carole too, assuming she knows about Puck.

I need to focus.

"He-" I try again but I'm stopped before I can even form words.

"Your dad?" Burt asks, as if he's trying to clarify a few points because he doesn't want to make the wrong assumptions but the way it sounds is the way it is. He's not misunderstanding me, I'm sure he wishes he was though because the images that must be running through his head right now are probably awful… and the truth.

"Yeah." I confirm in a whisper and I shift uncomfortably, I don't like Burt calling him my 'dad' because he hasn't been a dad to me- he's just the man who happens to be my biological father but Burt doesn't know that. That's not his fault.

They're all still just gazing at me in shock and I don't quite know how to continue, how much to share, how much to keep for myself because I do need to keep some of it private, for me. I draw my bottom lip between my teeth and chance a look at Kurt- who proceeds to move impossibly closer to me. Our thighs are touching now and his body heat alone sends me so much comfort, his scent is intoxicating.

We've never sat this close together before, Kurt and I, and I instinctively look over to Burt to see if he's objecting to this but he still looks nothing but worried. Burt doesn't seem to mind that his son is so inappropriately close to me, he doesn't blink an eye at our hands or our thighs or his son leaning into me and being so upset for me. I wish my father had held an ounce of Burt's understanding in his heart because maybe then everything would have turned out differently. I shake my head. I can't think like that, I need to focus. I need to explain what's going on to these kind, considerate people who surround me.

"I-I just- I " I start but once again I fail to finish, I'm frustrating myself now because I can use words, I know I can.

"Take your time, sweetie." Carole says softly, no doubt sensing my irritation, as she smiles reassuringly at me. I take a deep breath.

"He- I freaked out because it was.. it was supposed to be our secret and- and I just- I didn't know who that _man_was." I look at the floor then as shame washes over me and unlike the kitchen there are no tiles for me to count here.

"Wait. There was someone other than your father there?" Kurt asks quickly and I can't look up at him, I can't, so I just nod.

"Oh, Blaine." Kurt gasps and I look at him then, I have to, I look at his wide eyes and I can see that he understands, he understands why that felt so wrong to me; how betrayed I felt. He can see how that hurt me more than every single contusion he'd ever given me.

"They made me get on- on-" I stop again as the memory hits me and I close my eyes tightly. I feel like I can smell him, I feel like he could be here, I feel like he's listening. I'm suddenly terrified again and a deep tremor runs through me.

"Hey, it's okay, kid, no one can hurt you now." Burt reassures and I try to focus on reality, on the now.

I open my eyes slowly and look at Burt who shifts slightly as if he wishes he knew what to do to help me but he _is _helping me. And if I can tell him more of my story maybe he'll find a way to make it all okay. I want nothing more than to move past this and be who I want to be.

_Courage, _I tell myself then, you can do this, Blaine Anderson, I know you can.

I take a deep breath.

"They made me get on my knees and I- I felt so ashamed. I felt so _disgusting._" I pull a face at that and Kurt is tightening his grip on my hand again, leaning his body into me.

"You are not disgusting." Kurt all but whispers and my heart stops.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, kid." Burt continues and he's starting to sound as sad as Kurt now. I find hope in his kindness, so much hope.

"They- they made me crawl across the floor and I was so _scared._Kurt, I was so scared." I say and I don't know why I'm addressing Kurt in particular, I think that maybe it's because I feel the need to justify my weaknesses to him.

Kurt let's out a tiny, strangled sound and my heart breaks.

"I'm so sorry." Kurt whispers into my hair and it sends a painful shudder straight through me.

"They made me take my shirt off so th- so they could see my horrible skin, and I-." My eyes fill and I have to focus on my breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Kurt is so warm, I concentrate on that.

"He took his belt off- and he - he ordered me to ask for it and I didn't want _that. _I swear, I didn't, so I ran away, I just _ran._I ran and I ran and I ran." A tear slips down my cheek and my face creases. Kurt is still clinging to me and Carole has barely moved.

"Good for you, kid." Burt says without delay and he offers me the tiniest of smiles, like he's proud that I stood up for myself. Like he's proud that my legs worked and I ran and ran and ran. My heart swells, I can't help but see him differently then, Burt is so different from my own father. Something inside of me settles then, it's that piece of me that worried that all men, that all _fathers, _were monstrous.

_Thank you, Burt Hummel, _I think, _thank you, so much._

"I didn't know who else to call." I offer eventually, shyly, and my face is wet again.

"You did everything right." Burt offers and I feel so undoubtedly loved, "Absolutely everything."

It's quiet then, for a moment, like everyone is taking a moment to organise their thoughts into something that makes sense on a universal level. Kurt is the first to speak.

"Dad, is it okay if Blaine stays here?" he asks quietly and my heart starts pounding. I know that it's not likely, that they're not going to throw me to the streets, but I still worry about it and then I feel incredibly awful because why did I even allow that thought to enter my head?

I feel even worse about it when Carole quickly says, "Of course, he'll stay, honey."

"You're not going back to that house, Blaine." Burt says in confirmation and I have never felt so grateful, so reassured, "I will not have you terrorised in your own home."

"Thank you." I say faintly and my voice wavers as tears flood my eyes. It's like a barrier opens inside of me and it just _hits_me.

_Everything_just hits me and I start drowning in sensation.

"Shhh." Kurt soothes gently as he and Carole both let go of my hands, I feel cold then but Kurt shifts a little to hug me properly- his body pressing hastily against mine and my comfort is soon restored.

One of Kurt's hands is holding my head to his neck and he's running his fingers sporadically through my hair, his fingers getting tangled in my dark, messy curls. I bury my face into him and pull gently on the back of his shirt and I just cry. I cry so damn hard.

_"I love you, so much."_Kurt whispers into the shell of my ear and my whole body starts to shake.

Tears are absolutely pouring out of my eyes and they must be soaking through Kurt's clothes but he doesn't say a word about it, he just tries to calm me down but I can't calm down because this is my freedom, after eight and a half years, I am finally free.

I'm free because of this family, I'm free because of Puck. A loud sob burst out of my mouth and shatters the silence that lay idly around us.

"We'll leave you boys in peace." Burt says softly and then they both get up and leave, closing the door gently behind them. They leave Kurt and I on the sofa, squeezing the life out of each other and muttering heartfelt _'I love you's'._

o~o~o

It feels so strange to be in Kurt's room without the secrets I've been keeping looming over my head. Tonight I don't have to worry about hiding shameful bruises or side-stepping certain awkward conversations, we can just be us. We can be ourselves, we can be Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel.

I'm sitting on Kurt's comfortable bed right now surrounded by plush pillows, with my back flush against his headboard, and I'm waiting for him to find me a t-shirt to wear for the rest of the evening because his blazer was starting to scratch my skin and it was making me feel quite uncomfortable. Uncomfortable enough for me to mention it and for Kurt to notice. I watch from my position on the bed as he roots through his numerous drawers, I watch as he holds up shirt after shirt and then changes his mind.

He must look through twenty perfectly good t-shirts before he smiles to himself and walks over to me triumphantly with a top clutched in his hand. He takes a seat on the edge of his bed and waves the shirt he's holding at me.

"You look great in red." He say softly, a small blush flushing his cheeks, and he hands me the cherry garment. Kurt's told me this before, that he thinks red and blue are my thing and I don't disagree because I like both of those colours quite a lot.

"Thank you." I say genuinely, taking the shirt from his hands and laying it on my legs before I start unbuttoning his blazer.

He holds a hand out to stop me.

"You can use my bathroom, if you want to, if you're uncomfortable changing here, I mean. Or I can go in there- if you'd prefer that. Or we can do what you want. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in my house." Kurt rambles and he looks so adorable when he's flustered and concerned.

"I'm fine right here, Kurt." I say with a small smile and it's true. I feel very comfortable in this room, I know Kurt isn't going to do anything unpleasant or untoward. He taps my arm once and pulls his hand away before I slip his blazer off my shoulders and pull his red t-shirt over my battered skin.

"Does it look okay?" I ask self consciously and he nods enthusiastically, a hint of something else in his eyes. He looks like he's seeing something he likes and my heart flutters.

"Is it okay if I sit here with you?" Kurt asks suddenly and I can feel my own brow furrowing.

"This is your room, Kurt, this is your bed." I remind him and he shrugs.

"It might be your room too from now on." He speculates quietly and I hadn't thought of that. Though, I doubt Burt would let me sleep in this room with Kurt. Even I can see how that could be a bad idea.

"Your family is doing a lot for me." I say then and Kurt moves so that he's propped up against the headboard too and it doesn't take long for his hand to wonder over and link with mine.

He smiles at me then.

"_You _do a lot for me," he says purposefully, "and that makes us even."

It's been a very long, very confusing day for me and so it mustn't be entirely surprising to Kurt when I flutter in and out of sleep as I listen to him talk. My head is resting on his shoulder and our arms and hands are locked tightly together and I can't help but wonder if I'll be able to sleep without waking up with anxiety for the first time in a long time.

The answer is _yes._

o~o~o

When I wake up the first thing I do is look for a clock and luckily Kurt has one on his bedside table, so it doesn't take me too long to realise that it's eight o'clock in the morning.

I turn over then and I realise a number of things. I realise that Kurt isn't here, I realise that I'm under the sheets and I realise that I slept peacefully for an entire night. All of those things confuse me in one way or another, some of them just amaze me.

I pull myself into a seated position then and rub the sleep out of my eyes- trying so hard to focus my vision and clear my head. My eyes are still burning from all of the crying I did yesterday but I can't change that and I wouldn't anyway.

I remember then, it's _Saturday_today.

It's Saturday, I'm at Kurt's house, I'm in his bed, I'm homeless, I'm family-less and I don't have a school to go to but I'm feeling surprisingly happy anyway because no one is ever going to hurt me ever again. That feels amazing. I feel like I could sit in this bed all day, snuggled up in the covers that smell like Kurt and I'd feel like I've finally come home. But I can't sit around all day inhaling the scents of my best friend, I'm a guest of sorts in this house and I need to get out of bed and find Kurt. I need to find a way to help them.

I throw the covers off my body then and slip my body out, a shiver running through me as my bare feet hit the ground. Someone took my shoes off and something about that makes me smile. I make Kurt's bed, I fluff his pillows, I pull his throw straight and then I head to the bathroom, checking quickly over myself.

My hair is a mess, my skin is pale, my eyes are still pink, the bruising on my neck is visible again and Kurt's red shirt is all creased. I sigh and I try to make myself look more presentable. I splash water on my face, run my fingers through my hair start searching for some kind of concealer and that's exactly what I'm doing when there's a firm knock on the bathroom door.

"Come in." I say politely because this isn't my house and I'm not doing anything private, I'm just trying to look a little more presentable and I'm half-way there and let's face it, Kurt's seen me in a worse state than this anyway.

The door clicks open and I expect to see Kurt, but what I expect and what I actually get are two very different things. This isn't Kurt, not at all, it's his new brother. This is Finn.

"F-finn." I say catching his eye in the mirror and I instinctively try to cover my neck with my hands as I turn around.

"Hey, don't worry about that." he says carefully pointing a finger in the general direction of my neck and I grimace because he must know, of course he knows, I think, I'm living in his house and that demands an explanation. I should be glad I didn't have to tell him myself.

"Oh." is all my brain can come up with to say as I force my hands down.

"I'm sorry for intruding like this, dude, I just came down to see if you like pancakes?" He's got that awkward look on his face and it's hard not to find him totally endearing.

"Oh, yeah, I like pancakes." I say casually, like the boy standing in front of me doesn't know my secret.

"Great." he says and a small caring smile forms on his lips as he lingers in the doorway, "My mom, she told me about- about that." He says nodding his head towards my neck and I can't do anything but nod my head in an affirmative yes.

"I-" I begin but I don't know what to say to that.

"Don't worry about anything because I'd never say anything to anyone, I just wanted to let you know because I felt like it was the right thing to do and my mom's real big on that." he offers honestly and I smile then.

"Your mom's a wonderful woman." I say in response and he nods proudly.

"I should let you carry on." he says then, "Kurt's cooking some weird 'healthy-heart' pancakes and if I'm not up there demanding the _real_ones he won't make them for me."

"That sounds dramatic." I offer to which Finn laughs lightly.

"You do know Kurt, right? He lives for drama, even breakfast has to be dramatic." I laugh then too and Finn bids me farewell before he vanishes from the doorway. He's strange, I think, but I definitely like him. I like him a lot.

I keep searching for concealer but I really can't find any and if I can't find any on the surface then that's too bad because I'm not rummaging through Kurt's private things. I respect him too much as a person for anything even verging on a breech of privacy.

In the end I do the only thing I can, I give up. I don't have much choice, and apart from my neck, I definitely look better. I can _see_myself and that's enough right now. It's enough just to be able to see my reflection and know that all of these bruises will fade and they won't be replaced.

It's enough to know that Burt doesn't have heavy hands and that Carole is like the mom I've missed every single day of my life. It's enough to know that two teenagers, who I barely know, are offering me so much support. It's enough to know that, if anything, all of this has brought Kurt and I closer together and _that's _enough to make me straighten myself up, walk up those stairs and into that kitchen with pride because these people really do care about me and I really do matter.

It's about time fights stopped being about violence and started being about pancakes.

o~o~o


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12.**

* * *

><p>o~o~o<p>

As it turns out, Kurt's healthy heart pancakes are actually mouth-wateringly good, of course I didn't know that when he gave me a choice of having either his healthy-heart pancakes or the pancakes which he dubbed 'the tempting slices of death.' In the end I chose the healthy option because their billing was much more favourable and because Kurt kept giving me a look that said: don't you dare pick the ones dripping in chocolate sauce because I will cut you with my words and statistics. So, I played it safe but I couldn't help but stare at Finn and Puck as they pushed eager forks into their tempting slices of death.

I feel bad about it now but I wasn't expecting much as I cut a pancake up, stabbed at it with my fork and put it in my mouth. I wasn't expecting it to taste like the best thing I had ever eaten. Kurt watched for my reaction and he smiled knowingly as I looked at him, a quick, unspoken 'I told you so.' lingering in his eyes.

The whole kitchen was vibrant with choral chatter and a distinctive familiarity which occasionally descended into comfortable banter. I had a wonderfully gratifying time just being a small part of such a huge, thriving family dynamic. I was left in awe when I realised that I could ask other people to pass me the orange juice and they would, with a smile. I was blown away when every single person at the table included me in the conversations they were having with other people. I felt so acknowledge. I felt like I really mattered and I'd never felt so at ease. My heart thudded deep inside my chest when I realised that I could smile and laugh and actually mean it for once.

Breakfast this morning was beautiful, which is important to remember, because by saying that it's clear that all of the fault lies within me. They haven't set a single foot wrong; in fact, they've all gone out of their way to include me in everything. Which is why I feel so awful when I admit that sometimes, when I was left with my own thoughts for more than thirty seconds, my mind drifted and I became obsessed with the notion that I didn't belong there. All I could think, in the interludes of casual conversation, was how I'm probably better suited to mornings where I don't get to eat breakfast, I don't have to make conversation and I dash from my bedroom to the front door.

It's not that I want to go back to my father.

It's not that.

It'll never be that.

I don't ever want to see him again, I _don't. _I'm extremely relieved that it's all over and that he can't hurt me anymore. Who wouldn't be happy about that? I just don't feel like _myself_ today, I've got my whole future ahead of me and I'm still hung up on my past and how scared I've been for so long. It doesn't seem real. I doesn't seem possible that what I went through, for so many years, can be over just like that. All it took was one phone call and a handful of caring people and everything has changed. It's all changed so quickly. Maybe even too quickly. My brain can't catch up.

I feel guilty for feeling so lost because that must mean I'm being ungrateful and unappreciative and after everything that makes me sound like such a terrible human. I'm finally free and safe and cared for and I can't stop wondering if this is the right thing for me after all. I know what happened to me everyday, at the hands of my father, I felt the punches and the kicks, I listened to the monstrous filth that came out of his mouth. I know that I'm still terrified of him. I know that he humiliated me. But there's still a part of my brain that can't detach itself from that house and I feel awful about that. There's a part of me that almost misses it and that thought alone makes me wonder if I'm just as sick as my father because why would I almost miss being battered half to death?

Then there's another, possibly bigger, part of me and it's absolutely petrified because I don't know if I'm good enough to be a normal, healthy teenage boy, whatever that means. I'm not sure that I'm good enough to be happy. I'm probably over thinking this but some of it could be true. Couldn't it? I thought leaving that house would make me feel better but now I feel worse because I can't stop thinking that maybe some of it was my fault and maybe a part of me deserved it.

I think of Kurt then, the same Kurt that tells me I'm perfect and beautiful and deserving and a fresh wave of shame washes over me because what would he say if he could hear the thoughts I'm having? He'd be so hurt, he'd be heartbroken.

I'm better than this, that's what Kurt would tell me and that's what Puck would say too. He told me I wouldn't feel okay straight away didn't he? Maybe it is okay then. Maybe what I'm feeling is just part of a weird process.

I remember Burt then too, telling me that I did everything right and I try to push those intrusive thoughts out of my head. I focus on the present. I'm okay. I'm just having a hard time. I'm just confused. I'm just scared of the unknown and that's _okay._ It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.

I take a deep breath.

It still doesn't feel quite right, sitting in the mall with Kurt and Carole on a Saturday morning drinking ice cold dye-blue slushies but maybe it's not wrong for the reasons I fear. For example, maybe this just feels wrong because of something trivial, like the fact that I'm not wearing my own clothes and I had to squeeze myself into a pair of Kurt's skin-tight jeans this morning. Maybe that's it. Kurt's clearly taller than me and his thighs are obviously slimmer than mine and it's all a bit awkward, me wearing his jeans, because they're a few inches too long and quite a bit tighter than I'm entirely comfortable with. I feel too exposed and while I know that Kurt can pull this look off flawlessly I'm not so sure that I have the body for it. I'm not sure that this is me, I'm not sure who I am right now.

I pick nervously at the loose threads of the burgundy cardigan that Kurt found for me, as he and Carole talk animatedly about a dress she probably ought to buy because it both slims her and brings out her eyes. I watch as they smile at one another across the table and share looks that scream _I really do love you._ I don't know why but that bothers me. I think it could be because I feel like I'm intruding on an important bonding session between a step-son and a step-mother. Deep in my heart I know that I'm not, I know that I was invited and that Kurt's not the type to just indulge people. If he didn't want me here I wouldn't be here. Besides, the smiles he keeps giving me are heart warningly genuine. I need to relax, I need to stop thinking. I'm making things worse than they actually are. I wish I could just stop myself and enjoy this.

"Well," Carole says eventually, breaking my train of thought as I suck the last of my slushie through the straw, "I have to run a few errands now but I'll meet you boys back here in about an hour?"

She smiles softly at me, happiness reaching her eyes, before she gathers her belongings and stands, tucking her chair under the table and bidding us both a final farewell.

"I miss you already!" Kurt all but sings as Carole passes him and pats him once on the shoulder before vanishing into a crowd of people. The hum and buzz of the multitude hitting me for the first time as I watch them walk in all of their different directions.

Kurt turns his attention back to me then and he looks so blindingly faultless today, his posture is as perfect as always, his clothes are as complimentary as ever, his smile is so bright it's contagious. Though, more than anything, he looks so comfortable existing in his own skin and I'm so proud of him for that. I'm so overwhelmingly proud of his confidence and his candour and that I had a small part in it. Kurt is everything I hope to be, he's so self-assured, he's so brave and he's so beautiful.

"So, Blaine" Kurt starts cheerily, reaching out a steady hand and placing it on top of mine, "Is there anything in particular you'd like to do while we're here?"

"Not really." I say honestly because it's true, I could follow him around all day quite happily. It's not like I have any money to spend.

"Oh, okay." Kurt says and he sounds a little disappointed, I don't like him sounding like that but I don't know what to say to him so I don't say anything. Despite the noise that surrounds us the silence between us feels so heavy.

"You seem very thoughtful today." Kurt says eventually, quietly, hesitation lingering clearly in his voice.

"Sorry." I say then and I'm not just sorry for dragging the smile off his lips, I'm sorry for thinking unappreciative thoughts.

"Blaine, you're my best friend and I really, really care about you. If this is too much, us being here, in a crowded mall, pretending you're okay then you can tell me. We can figure something out, okay?" He pulls on my hand a little then and I can't help but look at him, his eyes full of concern and pleading, "We can do all of your thinking together. Blaine. You don't have to be the strong one or the brave one or the courageous one anymore because there's two of us now and we can share this."

My heart starts to pound at the sincerity rushing from his mouth and hitting me painfully in the chest. Why can Kurt always read me so clearly, so easily?

"I think that maybe I shouldn't be here." I say in a wavering whisper and Kurt tightens his grip instinctively on my hand. He doesn't seem to notice, or care, that we're sitting in a crowded café, in a crowded mall, in the middle of Ohio. He doesn't seem to care that sitting here holding my hand so openly could make us a target. Kurt's more concerned about offering me a form of comfort that he knows means a lot to me and there's something so profound about that.

"It's too soon, you being here, isn't it?" Kurt muses aloud, his eyes wider than they were ten seconds ago.

I can't say anything.

"Blaine. I'm sorry for making you come here. I thought it'd be nice. I didn't think." He says apologetically and he looks so sorry. He looks so upset and he thinks he's upset me but it wasn't him at all, it was all me. He hasn't been bouncing these stupid thoughts around my head all morning, I have.

"It's okay." I offer honestly and Kurt shakes his head, that defiant look on his face.

"No it's not. You should have told me if you didn't want this. I need to know that you feel like you can talk to me. I love you, Blaine." Kurt says and there's a hint of distant despair rolling in the depths of his voice now.

"You were already coming here, Kurt, I didn't want to ruin this for you." I say hoping to make him feel better but it doesn't work because his brow furrows and he looks so concerned. I want to tell him that he doesn't need to worry about me anymore but maybe he does.

"Blaine, by coming here you ruined your own day, you can see that, right? You don't owe me anything." He says clearly, each word punctuated for deeper meaning.

"I do owe you, though." I say and Kurt shifts in his seat. He looks uncomfortable and confused.

"No. Blaine, look, you're my best friend and that means that we have each other's backs. That means that you can tell me if you don't want to do something. If changes are happening too quickly or if you just want to spend the day doing mundane things like watching TV or helping me sew pillowcases then that's okay too." Kurt offers sincerely and my eyes fill up then because I've been so stupid, haven't I? I've been so blind. Kurt's not expecting me to be okay or perfect he's expecting me to need help and he's upset that I'm not letting him help me.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt." I say, realisation still settling on the tip of my tongue, he just shakes his head again. His hand still clinging to mine as if he's trying to say: _I'm here for you, Blaine, always._

"For what?" he asks softly and there's raw emotion in his voice now.

"For everything." I say and then he gives me the tiniest of smiles.

"I'm not sorry." he says, his fingers playing aptly with the thread of the cardigan that I'm wearing before he adds, "Blaine, I want you to promise me something."

I just look at him for a while before I say, "Okay, what is it?" Because I can do that, after everything I can promise Kurt something and mean it. He nods his head.

"I want you to promise that you'll let me know what's going on in your head because sometimes I can be really dense and I do things like this." he looks around the café quickly before his eyes meet mine again, "Blaine, I want you to tell me if you're not happy." He finishes genuinely and I can feel my own brow furrow now. I can only imagine what we must look like to an outsider.

"Oh. Okay." I say

"Do you _promise_ because this really matters to me, Blaine? I've never meant something so seriously in my life." Kurt says resolutely and his face matches his words. I can't help but take in the serious line of his mouth, the determination in his eyes, the crease in his brow and I know then that what he's saying is an absolute truth.

I make a decision.

"I promise you, Kurt." I say and a faint trace of a smile draws itself on his lips. His whole face slowly comes back to life in front of me.

"One more thing," he says, lifting my hand and leaning over to place a delicate kiss on my knuckles, "Do you promise to try and understand how amazing you actually are? Because, Blaine Anderson, I think you're amazing." Kurt says and I falter.

"Kurt, I-" He rubs my hand quickly and I realise then that he can see it all, he can see how conflicted I am.

"Blaine, don't you dare doubt me on this, my word is the law." He says swiftly grabbing my attention before he adds, "Please, just try. For me?"

"For you, I promise I'll try." I say earnestly and Kurt just smiles. 

o~o~o

Burt Hummel is staring at me and I don't quite know where to focus my eyes. Being alone with him is quite intense but you mustn't misunderstand me, I'm not scared of him, not at all, the situation just evokes strong feelings. I can't help but wonder why my own father couldn't talk to me like this because Burt, he just strode right over to me, confident as always, and asked if he could talk to me alone. He asked if I'd be comfortable with that and Kurt just looked up at me from behind his father and shrugged as if to say: _don't ask me, I don't know._ I just nodded my head in reply and followed him into the living room where he closed the door and we blocked out the world.

"I just want to talk to you alone for a while. Is that okay?" Burt starts, taking a seat on the sofa next to me. His weight bouncing me a little.

"Of course." I say clearly and he nods once.

"Am I okay sitting this close to you?" Burt asks then and all I can do is look at him. That question sends something warm rushing through me because he's asking about physical boundaries, like Kurt did last night, and that makes me want to sob out in relief. No one gets to put their hands on me anymore, not unless I say so and only ever in a good way.

"Yeah, you're fine." I say eventually to which Burt offers me small smile that reaches his eyes.

"How are you feeling today, kid?" he enquires and of all the questions he could have asked me, I didn't expect that one. I expected 'We should talk about living arrangements?' or maybe even 'We should talk about school?' but I never expected him to ask me how I was feeling.

"Oh. I'm fine." I say shortly, still partially wrapped in shock, and Burt fiddles with the cap that sits on his head before taking it off altogether and laying it on the coffee table that sits in front of us.

"Okay. So, how are you _really_ feeling?" Burt says softly, with not a hint of force present in his voice. I wonder then if anyone can see straight through me or if it's just a Hummel thing.

"I'm just- I'm a little lost, I think." I say honestly and it probably sounds far less convincing than I wanted it to.

"Because you don't have to go back to that house?" Burt asks and I realise then that Burt is probably as straight talking as his son and that despite all the obvious differences they're very much a like.

"I don't know, my head is such a mess." I say honestly before I realise what I've said. Burt just nods.

"Do you talk to Kurt about it, what you're feeling, I mean?" Burt asks eventually and I can't help but think that he sounds like a _real_ parent should, like a real dad should. Burt's a precise amount of caring and open questions and presence and understanding and that's everything that any son would ever need his dad to be.

"I want to, I promised him I would, but I just don't know how to start." I confide eventually and my voice is much lower now.

"Okay. Well, how about Finn or Puck? They'd listen to you talk too." Burt tries and I shake my head.

"I don't want to implicate Finn in my- in my drama. And Puck, he already done so much for me, I don't want to keep bothering him." I say almost apologetically and Burt makes a tiny noise of disapproval.

"You're not bothering anybody, Blaine. Would you like to talk to me about it? Because you can." Burt says softly and it hangs in the air for a while. I can suddenly hear the mechanically ticking of the clock that hangs on the wall.

"I-"

"You don't have to tell me everything, maybe just the stuff that's really bothering you. Kurt does it all the time." he adds with a sense of purpose, like he's letting me know that talking to him about my feelings and my problems wouldn't be a weakness and I really want to believe him.

I take the chance.

"We could be here all night if I tell you what's bothering me." I say carefully, waiting for his reaction.

He waits to speak until he's caught my eye, "I've got all night."

My heart starts to pound, "I don't want to be a burden."

"What?" Burt says, his eyes still looking into mine and it's hard for me not to look away.

I bring my hands together in my lap and start fiddling, "Your family is already doing so much for me, Mr Hummel."

"There'll be none of that." he says firmly before he continues, "Look, kid, you're not a burden, okay; it's actually nice having you here."

"It- it is?" I say and I can hear the voice of my father in my head shouting _'Why would they want a faggot in their house!' _but I just replace it with Burt's voice and now my head is reminding me: _'You're not a burden.'_

"Yeah, Kurt's more careful with his mouth for a start." Burt confides and I smile then. A small laugh escaping Burt.

"Plus, you're _safe _here, Blaine. And that matters to me." Burt offers and I can feel my cheeks flushing.

"I thought- I thought no one would care." I say and my voice is so tiny that I'd be surprised if Burt could even hear me, but he did hear me because he says disbelievingly, _"What?"_

"For eight years I didn't tell a soul because I thought.." I cut myself off because it's making me feel too emotional, I look at the floor.

"Okay, you need to listen to me." he says, "Look at me." he requests and I do, of course I do, "_I _care about you, Blaine. Do you understand what I'm saying here?"

I don't say anything; I just stare downwards, Burt continues.

"Kurt cherishes every single fibre of you, he cares about you so much that you're all he ever talks about. Carole cares about you too, in fact, she won't stop talking about you either. I'm lucky you bat for the other team because I'd be in some serious trouble otherwise. She thinks you're the sweetest kid. And Finn, he cares about you too, in his own way. He's his mother's son, I know you maybe don't know him too well yet, but he's not afraid to say when he doesn't like people and Finn's only ever said nice things about you. And while we're at it, Puck cares about you too. He's been through a lot of bad things in his life and I've never heard him be so concerned about anyone other than you. When you left for the mall this morning he came to talk to me because he cares so damn much about you, Blaine. The kid was beside himself. So, don't you ever think that no one cares about you because that's just not true."

I look at Burt then and sincerity is absolutely pouring out of his body. He holds my eyes with his and I can't help but instinctively reach out a hand but I feel incredibly stupid and I try to take it back. Burt he doesn't let me, he grabs my hand and holds onto it tightly, "Do you understand why we care about you, Blaine?"

"No." I say quietly because I know it's not the right answer. Burt grips my hand like Kurt has a habit of doing and offers me a reassuring glance. Warmth rushes through me.

"We all care about you because you're a kind, generous, self-sacrificing, loving person and you matter, Blaine." He's looking at me so intently, searching me with his eyes. I can feel a blush form on my cheeks.

"I don't want to let you down." I offer eventually and he almost frowns.

"You wont let us down." He says softly.

"You don't know that. My head-"

"What about your head, Blaine?" he asks and he's looking at me so kindly that my heart is swelling.

"It's messed up, I'm so messed up." I say regretfully.

"No you're not. There's nothing wrong with you." He reassures.

"I just- I don't know what to do now I can't go back there." I offer, trying to explain the confused state that my head is in.

"Do you _want_ to go back there?" Burt asks and there's so much sadness in his voice.

"No. No! He _hurt_ me!" I all but shout because I don't ever, ever want to go back there.

"It's okay, I'm sorry. I'm _sorry._" He placates, as a heavy breath leaves him. He tugs at my hand and I squeeze it back. This is Burt and Burt is a good man.

"I just- I don't know how to _be_ without him." Realisation hits him and I know that he understands what I was trying to say before but didn't.

"Tell me about yourself." he say suddenly.

"What?"

"Tell me what you're good at, who your friends are, who you admire. All of that is what separates you from him, it makes you your own person."

"I- well, I love to write songs?" I say and he nods, "Go on."

"I like to compose music, I like to sing to people. I'm good at it." He smiles then.

"You should sing to us one day. Kurt likes to do that sometimes." Burt shares. I smile then too.

"R-really?" I say

"Yeah, I think that'd be really great. So, tell me who your friends are?" he leads and I am smiling now.

"Kurt, your son, he's my best friend in the world. Wes, David, Thad, in fact, all the guys at Dalton- oh- I'm- I'm never going to see them again, am I?" The smile falls off my face.

"Yes you will." He says confidently.

"I can't afford Dalton by myself." I remind him.

"But your friends will still have weekends, Blaine." He reassures.

"Yeah. I- I guess so." I say because that's very true.

Burt squeezes my hand.

"So, last question, who do you admire?" He says evenly and I don't even think about it, I just say it because it's true, "Kurt."

Burt grins at me then and I can't help but smile straight back at him.

"Then you and I already have something in common. And do you know who else I admire?" He asks then.

"No." I say because really it could be anyone in the entire world.

"You." he says sincerely and my heart is racing.

"W-what?" I say because I can't quite understand that. Why would a grown man, a man like Burt, admire someone like me?

"You're so brave and after everything you been through you're still so damn loving. I'm so glad that my son met a boy like you because you changed his life. You made him feel better and you deserve happiness, Blaine. Oh, no, don't get upset. No, shhh, it's okay. Come here, kid." he says as he opens his arms and I instantly lean forward. A tear sliding down my face as he holds me tightly to his chest. I have never felt so at home, so cared for, so comfortable.

I think I've finally found him.

I think I have a dad. 

o~o~o


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13.**

* * *

><p>o~o~o<p>

It's been an entire week since Burt Hummel sat me down on the sofa and told me that I mattered. It's been seven long, drawn-out days since I gave part of myself away to Burt, or if you'd prefer it, one hundred and sixty eight very complex and neurotic hours since I opened myself up to my best friend's dad, or maybe I could call it the ten thousand and eighty minutes of polarising extremes that it took for me to end up here. I honesty wish I could say that this house has fixed me, just like that, and that this family have made me right and let me breathe, but that wouldn't be the truth. I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever be the Blaine I want to be because in the last week alone I've developed a whole new mix of problems- though, these ones typically don't physically knock me around or forcibly buckle my knees or sadistically bruise me.

Anyway, for a few days, after Burt's talk, I felt so alive. I was alight with ambition and brimming with _feeling_ and hanging on every single word that was spoken in this house- it was all so new and exciting and irregular. Then I settled in a little, I let my guard down, I exposed myself and before I knew it my peaceful nights turned into nights spent staring blankly at the ceiling and then _they_ turned into nights spent tossing and turning and then _they_ progressed into full blown night-terrors. It all happened so quickly, I had no control over it. Now, every single night, I wake up in Kurt's bed, covered in sweat, my body physically aching from the fights that I replay in my head again and again. I have to drag myself into his bathroom where I shut the door and stare into nothing until I _forget_. I forget the nightmares, I forget what I'm feeling, I forget how to feel… it's better like this. This way I can cope.

For a number of days now I've been trying so hard to fit in here, even though my heart's not in it, because I really do care about these people. At least, I remember that I do. I don't want to upset anyone, anyway, when people get upset I feel too overwhelmed and then I get into thinking and that doesn't do me any favours. So, I've been making the idle conversation, I've been chopping the carrots, I've been pouring the coffee, I've been shopping with the family, I've told them exactly what they want to hear, I smile when everyone else smiles, I laugh when everyone else laughs but it's not real, I have to _make_ myself do it. Something inside of me has changed. I'm like a vacant body. I can't _feel_ anymore. I'm out of place in a house like this, a home that thrives on feelings and sharing and _sharing feelings._ I'm like an icy snowflake drifting past a warm beach on a scorching summer's day. It's just all wrong.

I'm so _numb._ It's like I felt too many emotions, too quickly, for too long and now they've all just been scraped out of me with a blunt, rusted knife for survival's sake. I have _nothing_ left inside of me, I'm hollow and unoccupied and void. I'm finding it progressively harder and harder to feel anything at all. For someone like me, someone who's used to feeling so much, this should be an incredibly terrifying revelation but I don't feel anything, and I'm not sure I even care. Everything I do seems to be so damn difficult now. So, I just kind of… stare.

I can't hold a simple conversation, I keep drifting off into unthinking silence, I barely sleep, I look awful. But mostly, I can't understand why I had so much hope and belief while I was living in that house and now, now I'm finally free, I have this huge, gaping, empty hole inside of me that just grows and grows and grows and grows. It get's darker and darker and darker and I can't help but wonder if it can swallow me whole.

It's like my body just wants me to forget ever feeling anything at all. Like it just wants me to exist, and I wouldn't even mind that, at least then I'd never feel the way _he _made me feel, ever again. I least _then_ I'd never have to feel petrified or worthless… or humiliated… because…that was… feeling like that.. what he _did_..

Blaine, _stop it. _

My head goes quiet.

'…'

Finn drops his fork and I jump. We're all sat around the kitchen table, eating our lunches, and I just know that they're all looking at me right now because since I stopped crying they haven't stopped asking me if I'm okay. It's like I have to cry all of the time to be alright, I just want to stand up and scream at them- 'I am _not _the sum of my tears.' But I can't even find the willpower to do stand, let alone scream; so, I just sit still and nod and stare and agree and mimic the emotions that Kurt is feeling and showing because no one ever asks Kurt if _he's_ okay. I used to ask Kurt that question… when he was having his- his hard time... when he didn't know about… about my secrets… before he saw all of those _dirty_.. marks.. all my bruises... and before I let my…

Blaine, _stop it. _

My head goes quiet.

'…'

'…'

'…'

It takes a burst of laughter for me to start moving again, for me to realise I've been staring again. Losing more time. At some point last week I woke up with the new found ability to stare and stare and stare until my eyes start to burn but even the painful sting doesn't stop me from staring. That day, when I woke up and everything was different, I didn't tell anyone, I didn't make a fuss, I just carried on like everything was normal. I ignored the fact that a piece of me was missing; and it still is. And I continue to ignore the fact that I think I have a super nova for a heart.

I think maybe I should be upset right now but I'm not.

"Blaine, honey you haven't eaten much." Carole says, drawing my attention back to the table. The concern is still there, laced throughout her voice, like it usually is, because Carole just cares so damn much.

I look at her. No. I stare at her.

She reaches out a well meaning hand, moves to put it on top of mine, brings it down swiftly, but I manage pull my hand away quickly enough. I slip it under the table. I don't want her to touch me, not Carole, I can't do this right now. It makes me feel too weak… too defenceless... and it reminds me too much of being… of being so stupidly... pathetically… useless.. and _that_ reminds me of… of… of my…

Blaine,_ stop it. _

My head goes quiet.

'…'

'…'

"Blaine?" Burt asks and I shake my head. He shares a look with his wife.

"Sorry." I mutter quietly, quickly, and even to _me_ it sounds despondent, forced. I look then at the barely touched pasta salad that sits in front of me. It looks nice enough but I'm not particularly interested in it. I'm not interested enough to have a whole conversation about. If I could just go back to staring…

"Would you like me to make you something else, sweetheart?" Carole tries again, impossibly softer, impossibly kinder. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I wish she'd stop being quite so _nice_ to me.

"I'm fine." I say robotically and silence once more crowds the kitchen. There's yet another extended silence. They're all still staring at me. In fact, they won't _stop_ staring at me and asking those stupid caring questions. I can feel Kurt's eyes on me especially, they've been burning through me for days, they've been slicing into my skin like a jagged knife and following my every move.

"Are you okay, dude? You do look a little pale." Finn says suddenly and I look up at him then. _Great_, now he's getting involved too.

"I'm fine." I offer tightly and I'm looking straight through him. I wonder then if my eyes are as dark and glassy as they feel. I wonder if everyone else can feel the heat rising in the room, or if it's just me, because my hands are absolutely sweating now.

"Sorry." Finn says sadly, as he gives me an apologetic shrug and my skin starts to crawl, "You've not being your usual talkative self, that's all. You've hardly talked these past few days, dude. " Finn continues and now he's giving me that look. The one he likes to throw out when he thinks it'll get him his own way. I grit my jaw.

"It's a little _weird._" he finishes and I explode.

"Oh? And how the fuck would _you_ know, Finn." I begin, sick of the same questions, and the same looks, and the same sets of words that won't help me like they're supposed to help me, "You don't even _know_ me." I spit before I stand up and slam my hands into the table, the plates and cutlery rattling, "_None_ of you fucking know me!"

"_Blaine_-" Kurt gasps, confusion heavy in his voice and I spin around to look at him. My head is pounding, I can barely concentrate.

"What, Kurt? Oh, I'm sorry, aren't I being _quiet_ enough for you because apparently I'm not _loud_ enough for Finn!" I spit and I don't even know why I'm doing this. My eyes bore into Kurt's and he wants to look away, it's obvious, but he wouldn't dare.

"Blaine, I'm sorry, _please_, you're scaring me." Kurt says in a rushed breath, his hand reaching for the table like he's ready to jump up and run away from me.

"You don't even know what that word _means_! You have such a perfect little life, Kurt, with your perfect little family! And, _what_, I raise my voice and now you're all - you're all scared or something? You ought to try being strangled, Kurt, or knocked unconscious by your own fucking father! Then you'd _know_ what scared is!" I step forwards then and Kurt's eyes are absolutely huge, his thighs visibly flex, he's about to run away from me. I see him then, so clearly, for a split second. _Kurt._ I look around me now and everyone looks horrified. Burt looks so distraught, and after what I just did, what I just said, he looks like he still cares and I don't know why. I'm shaking all over, I notice it now, I look down at my hands and they're absolutely shuddering.

I don't have control of my body. I don't have control of my mind. I don't have control of my mouth. I feel like a automaton. I feel like a zombie. Like that night when my father brought that stranger to our house and they hurt me... when they.. they made me.. made me _crawl_..

I- I _can't_-

I-

I stumble backwards, knocking my chair to the floor and a huge thwack resounds around me. I panic. Dread drowns me. I sprint out of the kitchen on unsteady legs, a deep tremor rushing through my body and almost collapsing me as I race towards the front door.

I start pulling erratically on the door knob. I pull and I twist. I pull and I twist. I pull and I twist. I pull and I twist.

"_Open._" I plead but it won't budge. _It's locked._ It's locked and I don't have a key. My head feels fuzzy. My heart is racing. My lungs are deflating all too quickly. I pull at the handle again and again and again and _nothing_ happens.

"Blaine? You need to listen to me, right now.." A careful voice says from somewhere behind me and I spin around to find it's body. My heart is thundering. Please. Please. Please. Burt is staring right at me, and Kurt is just behind him and he's staring at me too because they're _always_ staring at me. They're always giving me those concerned looks. Those looks that make me feel so… _uncomfortable_ lately. I squirm. And I turn back to the door. My hands reaching out again, I need to get out, I pull and pull and pull and pull. My fingers and shoulders burning with the effort.

"_Open! Open, open, open, open, open!_" I repeat, pulling impossibly harder, gasping as I hear those familiar heavy footsteps coming from behind me. As they get closer and the air gets dryer. Shadows cover my face, blacken my efforts, and I'm absolutely gasping for air now.

"_Blaine, you need to stop. Kid, you're gonna hurt yourself._" a soft voice says somewhere in the distance but it doesn't, it can't, overpower the one that suddenly screams, "You stupid fucking _faggot_! You come into _my_ house and you think you own the place! This is _my_ house! You little _shit_. I'm gonna teach you some fucking _manners!_"

I freeze.

My cheeks are twitching and so are my legs. And suddenly I can _smell_ him, I can smell the disgusting cigars and the bitter alcohol and the stale urine. And it's rancid, it's stifling, it's overpowering, I can _taste_ it in my mouth, down my throat. I gag. I'm going to be sick. Get it out. Get it out. Get it out! He's not supposed to be _here_. A heavy hand clamps down on my shoulder and I recoil. My eyes widen.

"_No._" I whisper sadly, "No, no, no, no. _Please_, don't- don't touch me." But he doesn't listen, he never listens, he just pushes me forward and I fall awkwardly into the door. It's like he's mocking me because _I can't escape._ I can't get out. This can't happen to me again.

"Shut your _filthy_ fucking mouth!" he hisses and I can feel his warm, unbearable breath in my hair. He pulls me backwards then, before he slams his hands into my shoulders and once more I crash into the door. My head smacks violently off the wood and I want to raise a hand to see if I'm bleeding but I'm too scared to move. I'm too scared to breathe.

"I-I'm so sorry, I'm _sorry_-" I mutter desperately, too frightened to turn around and look at him and show him how sorry and scared I actually am. My knees give way and my legs start to buckle.

"_Show_ him. Show him what you _let me_ do to you." he spits violently and his breath is heavy on my face now. It's stench is filling my lungs. My heart is hammering out of my chest. I'm going to _suffocate._

"P-please-" I start, and my lip starts quivering, my teeth catch it and I bite down and it spills open. Pain shoots through me. He grabs me again, he puts a heavy hand on the side of my neck. He presses his fingers in. He's pressing so _hard_ that I feel dizzy. I'm seeing stars.

"_Ask me._ Ask me to _hit_ you." he bites out coldly and the slur of his voice slides into a slither.

"_No. I- I c-can't. P-please._" I say hopelessly before my head is once again pulled back and slammed into the door.

I fall to my knees then and that's when I see the stranger's feet. They're too close to my face. He moves them a little. Mockingly. Then he lifts one up and I flinch violently. I close my eyes tightly. A sob bursts out of my mouth.

I pass out. 

o~o~o

When my eyes flutter open I find myself staring at a patch of insignificant wallpaper. The soft floral scrolls repeating themselves again and again and again and I can't help but trace one with an outstretched finger. _My father isn't here_, I tell myself. _He was never here_, I say. _It was just a memory_, I enforce. But I'm not sure that it works because my body is still shaking, so, I just focus on the pattern in front of me.

I catch a flash of movement then, out of the corner of my eye, and I turn my head just in time to watch Burt Hummel run towards me. He looks absolutely mortified and I can understand why. Because just _look at me_. I'm crouched by his front door, with my body leaning against the wood for support and my face pressed into it for who knows what reason. I must look so awful. I must look like a _mess. _

I frown. I don't want Burt to think of me like that. I feel a trickling of warmth run down and under my chin then. I move a hand to my face to meet it on it's way down, and I follow the path of the liquid all the way back up to my lip and when my fingers meet the wound, I wince. The sting makes me hiss. I pull my hand away instinctively and there are bright, crimson dashes of blood on my fingertips.

"Blaine? Son?" Burt asks softly, interrupting my thoughts, as he crouches down next to me. He's close enough so I could reach him from here, if I wanted too, but he's obviously left a gap between us in case I need space. And, even though I am not myself, that invisible boundary Burt just laid down means a lot to me. But I just can't _handle_ this right now. There's something really _wrong_ with me.

"Do you know where you are, Blaine?" Burt asks and it's then that I notice that Kurt is standing in the doorway behind him. His hand is clutched tightly over his mouth and tears are slipping down his face, he looks so terrified and so heartbroken. I try to process it, I try to find something to say to him, but I can't think of the right words. Then, I remember shouting at him in the kitchen. I shift uncomfortably. Why are they still helping me?

"Blaine, _look at me_. Please." Burt tries again and I do, I look straight at him and his red eyes are staring right back into mine.

"Mr. Hummel, I'm so sorry." I say instinctively and everyone looks so sad. But I don't feel sad, I don't feel anything, except maybe guilt, yeah, I think I can feel that. I need to get up off the floor.

"Hey, none of that, not now. That doesn't matter. Right now I need you need to tell me something very important, Blaine. You need to tell me if this has ever happened to you before?" Burt asks and I look at him then because does he know what's happening to me? Why I feel broken, why my father just.. attacked me… when he's not even here?

"No." I say quietly, hoping he can tell me what's wrong with me now. But he just looks at me makes an dreadful sound and I wonder if that's what a heart breaking sounds like.

"Okay, we're gonna need to take you to a doctor, Blaine." Burt says more to himself than to me and I shake my head because I don't want them to tell me I'm officially crazy.

"I'll- I'll be fine soon." I say unconvincingly and Burt is giving me look of absolute devastation.

"I know you will but we need to make sure you're okay for a long time, kid." he says softly and Carole is walking towards me now, a small bag of ice and a washcloth clutched in her hands. Her mascara is everywhere. Finn emerges from the doorway too and he throws an automatic arm of comfort around Kurt, who quickly turns into his chest and clings to his brother. I look away.

"I-I'm not crazy." I say then.

"No. I know that, Blaine. And I'm pretty sure that what you've just experienced was a flashback." Burt says reassuringly, whilst taking the ice and washcloth from his wife- who then backs away.

"So, that means I'm not crazy." I say and I know that I'm repeating myself but if Burt's right I might be able to get better, even if it's just a _little_ bit.

"No, Blaine. You're not crazy." He says and he holds the wash cloth up in question. I nod and he reaches out to me, wiping the blood off my face.

"You don't hate me now? Because what I said in- in the kitchen- it was wrong." I mumble and I wince as he ghosts the wash cloth over my lips. He gives me the ice then and I press it onto my mouth.

"I could never hate you. I care about you too much, remember?" Burt says as he takes my hand and wipes the blood off my fingertips. I look behind him then, at Kurt, he's still buried in Finn's shirt. Do _they_ hate me now?

I just stare at them.

I stare and stare and stare and stare and stare.

My head goes quiet.

'…'

'…'****

o~o~o


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14.

* * *

><p>o~o~o<p>

We're completely alone now, Kurt and I, and we're sitting somewhat awkwardly in his living room. There's a cold, thunderous air of silence looming over us, which is more than a little foreboding, and I'm feeling absolutely suffocated by the quietness that surrounds us, by the tension that slips nervously between us and by the overpowering fear of _the end _that I now have dwelling deep inside my chest. There's a cruel, familiar voice in my head too, but it's not my father's voice, it's mine, and it just keeps screaming and screaming at me, the same bitter words repeated mockingly, over and over again. It's saying: _You ruin everything, Blaine, this is the end of you and Kurt. You did this to yourself._

I'm still shaking, my hands are still trembling, but they've been like this since it happened, since Burt helped me off the floor with his careful, calloused hands and moved me onto the sat me down when we got in here and he told me that it was okay, that it's not my fault, but I don't know how this _can't_ be my fault. I don't know how long ago that was but I know it's been a long time. Too long. But the fact that I have a tremor, that wont stop, the fact that I have no sense of time, or place, those things are the least of my problems right now, and the last of my concerns. I'm more overwhelmed by the fact that I feel like I could just curl up into the plush cushions that surround me and cry and cry and cry until I drown because I've really messed up here. I've really, really messed my head, it still isn't right, and the only thing I can feel for certain is guilt and the sun is starting to lose it's shine and I don't think I can just sit here until the darkness smothers me because darkness is still making me so nervy. And I just can't do this. I _can't._

I look at the door then. I need Burt, I need him to tell me that I'm okay, one more time. I'm not brave or strong or any of those other words that I used to pretend I was and I need Kurt's dad, I need him so damn much that I could cry. I need him to hold me, to tell me that it's okay, because Kurt can't do that for me right now; I can't see the forest for the trees. I'm too confused and I'm too lost and I feel like a _monster_. I look at Kurt then, his eyes are focused aimlessly on a spot on the carpet. He's being so shy, Kurt's never been like this around me, so self-conscious and careful and it's just another sign that we're broken. Whatever we had, that trust, it's _gone_. And that's all I can see.

The air is hanging so heavily across the room and Kurt hasn't even said a single word to me since we've been in here alone, by ourselves, without Burt, and I don't know what I can do to make any of this any better. This feeling between us, this sinking feeling, is so painfully unfamiliar to me, in relation to Kurt, and I just don't know what to do, what I can do, if I can do anything because maybe I can't fix this. Our relationship, our friendship, is about trust and love and a calm, unspoken understanding and that isn't here, not now. Now there is nothing between us but my guilt and his _fear._

It's overwhelmingly obvious that Kurt is nervous about being alone with me and I can't blame him for that, not after I shouted at him like I did in his kitchen. I saw how scared he was, I saw how ready to run away from me he was, I saw the conflict in his eyes, I saw him make the choice to _stay_ anyway and I worry about that decision more than I worry about anything. I worry because if we had been alone, if I had freaked out in his room, if I had started shouting at him, scaring him, if I had been about to do something awful he'd have just stood there and _taken it_. That completely terrifies me because, in that moment, he chose me over his own safety and that's just not right. It's _not_. And if he thinks that okay, if he thinks that's right, i don't know what else I can do other than leave because I need him to be safe, I want him to be brave, and Kurt's so far from being okay right now.

He's not okay with being in here, like this, with me, shut away and abandoned by his dad. He's pressed tightly into the back of an armchair on the other side of the room, which I know isn't a coincidence, and I'm sitting awkwardly on his sofa with my hands pressed tightly around the caps of my knees. My wrists are starting to ache from the angle of it all and I want to wrap my hands around myself and hide but I can't because every time I so much as breathe audibly Kurt shifts uncomfortably and it's breaking my heart. He's scared of me, he's truly _scared_ of me, of my unpredictability, of my outburst, of my _flashback_, because that's what Burt had called it, and I have never regretting anything more in my entire life. I have never wanted to go back and change something as badly as I want to change this because Kurt, the only person I unwaveringly care about on this planet, can't even _look_ at me right now. The courage that I worked so hard on helping him find is gone. Just like that. And I did that to him. _Me._

I've dragged Kurt down with me.

I know then. I know that I need to get out of here, I can't just sit here, silently, hoping that this will be okay because it can't be okay and I can't stand making Kurt feel like this, especially not in his own home, because I know exactly what that feels like. Maybe it's not quite the same, maybe the situation is a little different but Kurt's still jumpy, he' still guarded, he's still afraid and that's because of me and I cannot do that to him. I cannot become my _father_. I don't want him to skirt around me, to fear saying the wrong thing, to filter himself. I just want him to be who he is, I want him to be unafraid, I want him to be Kurt Hummel. I don't want his help, not at the cost of himself.

And I know, _I know_, that this decision could destroy me because I don't have anywhere else to live and now all I can think about is how badly my father is going to react when I come home after a week of vanishing. I wonder how much it's going to hurt, if there'll be blood, if he'll finally just _kill _me and take away my misery. The misery I'm dirtying other people with.

I take a deep breath.

This could be the end of _everything._

_I'm doing this for Kurt, _I remind myself then, _he deserves to live without fear._

"I'm so sorry, Kurt." I say eventually, forcing the words out of my mouth, and my voice is already shaking. You're so pathetic, Blaine. I watch as he shifts in his seat uncomfortably and my heart starts to pound as guilt rushes through me. _Look what you've done to him._  
>I watch him patiently then, as he wordlessly draws his lower lip between his teeth and nods his head softly. He's accepting my apology, after everything, but he still can't <em>loo<em>k at me and that hurts. It just hurts so damn much.

This is it, it's over.

"I just-" I begin slowly, distantly, trying to remember exactly what I need to tell him, I need to tell him that I'm sorry, that I wish today had never happened, I take a deep breath, "I just- I want you to know that if I could go back there... I'd do it, Kurt. I'd go back to my house, in a _second_, if it meant I'd never have scared you, do you understand? I'd never.. I'd never have phoned Puck. I'd never have come here. I'd never have come home with you if I'd have known that we'd end up here, if I'd known you'd be afraid of me."

"W-what?" Kurt breathes out shakily then and his voice is too similar to mine.  
>When our eyes finally meet I feel like my heart has stopped beating altogether. When those eyes look into mine I see nothing but pain and I can't stop the sob that bursts out of my throat. This is too much, staring into those red, hurt eyes. I want to pull my eyes away. <em>Look at him.<em>

"I'd go back for you." I whisper again, and I squeeze my eyes tightly together, because it's true. It really is. For him I'd do anything. I'd do what it takes. _You owe him his life back._

"_No._" He says unsteadily then, in a quiet desperation, and the room is suddenly sweltering, "Please, Blaine, don't say that." I stare at him for a while then, I just look, I try to remember him, the shape of his eyes, the line of his jaw, the way his lips part. After this, I may never get to see him again and I just want to remember. I want to remember what I loved, what made him so damn perfect, what makes him so good, what makes him too good for me.

"I just wanted you to know that, okay?" I say eventually and he just shakes his head. His face collapsing instantaneously as he places one of his beautiful hands over his mouth. I smile softly at the sight of his hands, I've always liked them, they've always been there for me, never afraid to reach out, until now. Saying goodbye hurts.

"Please-" he starts, bitter tears swimming in his eyes now, "Please, don't say you'd go back to that house, Blaine. He- your father, he hurt you. He abused you. W-why would you even say-" My eyes follow a tear as it spills out of his eye and runs down his face. That's all it takes and then tears are absolutely pouring out of his eyes. _Please, don't cry for me,_ I think, _I still can't cry and you shouldn't be crying alone._

"It-it wasn't always so bad, Kurt." I offer gently, trying to comfort him but it has the opposite effect on him and his eyes fly open.

"_Blaine._" he whispers harshly then, disgust laced in his voice, he looks absolutely horrified, "Don't defend him!"

"I- I'm not. I don't mean to. It just didn't always hurt as much." I try and he's shaking his head again, his brow furrowed tightly. His determination is back and I'm almost relieved, I almost want to stand up and scream _Thank you!_ because I haven't broken him forever. He's not like me, he's much stronger, I should have remembered that.

"I don't understand why a father would do this to his own son." Kurt says quietly, tears still shining on his cheeks, he doesn't even try to wipe them away. _It's okay to cry_, I told him that once, when I was myself, I mean.

"I don't understand why he wouldn't." I reply honestly, because that's the truth of it, and he cringes a strangled noise escaping past his lips.

"Those things, the things you were _saying_, Blaine." Kurt starts before he falls into a whisper, "I wonder about my dad, I think, what if he hurt me? What if he threw me around and said those things and I-"

"Stop it." I say then, firmly, cutting him off, "I should never have said that, Kurt. Burt's not like my father. He's a good man. Please, never doubt that. He's tried so hard for me." I'll never forget that.

"I-I know... but what if he was like that?" Kurt asks quietly, his eyes glued to mine, his hands softly touching his neck, "W-what if he choked me, what if he left a trail of bruises on my body, I-"

"Kurt, just _stop it_!" I snap quickly and then I wince, I'm snapping at him again, "I'm.. I'm just too confused right now, Kurt, and I can't... I just can't imagine Burt like that. I- I need him too much. I can't imagine him putting his hands on you like that. I _can't_, okay? I- I can't let that image into my head because I'm lost Kurt, I'm so fucking _lost_ and I need someone to show me what to do here. I don't.. I don't know who I am anymore and I need him. I _need_ him so much. S-so ... please.. just let me trust him. I can't trust him, not if I think it's even _possible_ that he'd hurt-"

"Blaine. I'm so sorry." Kurt says carefully then and I take another deep breath, "I can't stay here anymore, Kurt."

"W-what? Why?" he whispers.

"I scared you earlier, and-" he opens his mouth to disagree, "Don't try and say that I didn't because I did, Kurt. I know that I did. I saw that look on your face, I know that look."

"I- I'm not scared of _you_, Blaine." he promises but to prove my point I raise my hand quickly and he flinches. That's all the proof I'll ever need.

"I'm not scared of you." He repeats firmly and I just shake my head.

"You are and I can't put you through that because.. I know how that feels, Kurt." I offer sincerely and he frowns.

"I'll prove it to you, please, just tell me how?" he begs and I shake my head.

"Kurt, I saw your face after my freak out." I remind him because I'm not letting him choose me over himself again.

"After your _flashback_, Blaine." he corrects softly and I nod. After my flashback.

"You looked absolutely _terrified_, Kurt." I offer dejectedly and he frowns, "So did you."

"I'm sorry." I say automatically and he closes his eyes before he takes a deep breath and stands up.

Composing himself for a second before he walks over to me and stretches out a hand, I hesitate. I hesitate because this has obviously taken him a lot of courage and his hand is exactly what I need right now and he knows that, I'm sure he does, because Kurt has always known what I need from him. I'm just scared that I need too much from him. I'm not in control of myself, I don't want to hurt him.

"I _can't_, Kurt." I whisper then, even though it breaks my heart, and he just nods, never dropping his hand.

He waves it in front of me and I look up at him then. He doesn't look scared anymore, there's something else there now, lingering in his eyes, and I don't know what it is but it isn't fear.

"I'm not afraid of you, Blaine. I'm afraid of your father, just like you are, but I'm not scared of _you._" he says quietly and I nod before I make a choice I really _hope_ I don't regret.

I wrap my hand around his and I pray I don't hurt him. I pray I never hurt him again.

He squeezes my hand tightly and my eyes fill automatically.

I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

"Kurt, I thought... I thought he was really here." I confess uncertainly, weakly, and he just nods.

"Me too." he shares and then he sits down next to me. His hand still in mine, our thighs softly touching, his head resting lightly on my shoulder and I'm totally overwhelmed as I cling to his shirt, breathing in his comforting scent, his breath ghosting gently over my neck, "When I said I'd be here for you, Blaine, I meant it. I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you." 

o~o~o

I wake up sobbing, my cheeks are damp and sore and I can barely breathe. My chest is rising and falling far too fast for me to cope with, and my neck is absolutely stinging. It's burning from the pressure my father has just been forcing onto it with hard, steadfast fingers. My head is throbbing too and I'm terrified, I'm searching the darkness for him but he's not here. _He's not here._ This isn't my house, this isn't my house, I'm okay. It's okay. _Breathe. _

I look down at Kurt then, sleeping so softly next to me and that sends a new surge of emotion coursing through me. My eyes start to fill and I tug a hand through my hair to stop myself from crying. I feel so alone in this darkness, I feel so alone when I wake up petrified, with all of this fear eating away at me, and I don't know how to stop it. I wonder how long it's going to take for my body to close itself down tonight because I wont be able to sleep now, I just have to wait until I'm so tired that my body shuts itself down. I just have to wait until I'm so tired that I loose control of my consciousness.

I gulp down the hot air that surrounds me and I know that if I close my eyes, just for a second, I'll hear him, I can hear now, stalking around outside Kurt's bedroom door. I can hear his heavy feet, the breaking bottles, I can hear it_ all_. My brain remembers everything so damn perfectly and it uses it all against me. I'm feeling scared and my brain is mocking me, it mocks me every time it betrays me like this. Every single time it lets him exist around me, in my darkness, it betrays me. I betray myself. I wish I could wake Kurt up. I wish I could shake him awake and beg him to help me but I can't because this is my problem. This will always be _my_ problem. I need to get used to that.

I stare at the darkened ceiling then, my head cradled softly in the pillows that lie under it and I just wait, I wait and I hope that I'll fall asleep soon; that he wont be there this time. All I want is an hour's worth of sleep, just an hour. I'd even take half an hour, just something. _Anything._

Kurt shifts next to me then and I bite my lip, I try to stop the tears from spilling over my eyelids.

"Blaine." he whispers softly in his sleep and his hand searches under the covers for mine. He finds it eventually but he doesn't feel the tears on my fingertips and he settles back down.

"_Kurt_." I whisper into the darkness and he squeezes my hand, his heavy breathing comforting me.

Tempting me back to sleep. 

o~o~o

The next time I wake up I jump straight out of bed, I fling the covers off my body and I run across the room because he's chasing me. He's coming for me. _He's coming here again. _Oh, God. I look up at Kurt's door, I look at all of the stairs in my way. I can't do it, it's impossible. I can't build my barricade and if I don't do that he's going to hurt me. He's going to make me-

I-

I can smell him.

Oh, God. He's already here.

Why wont he just leave me alone?

I run back across the room then, knocking things over as I go but I cant stop, I know Kurt hates the mess but I can't stop to pick things up because he's coming down here and he's going to hurt me. He's going to _hurt_ me.

I run into Kurt's bathroom then, I slam the door shut, I turn the light on and I crouch down on the floor.

Stay away, _please_, just stay away.

I'm about to slide Kurt's laundry basket across the floor and pull it in front of the door when the door bursts open.

I jump violently and press myself into the floor; my heart is thundering in my chest.

"_No._" I gasp.

"Blaine?"

"K-kurt?" I whisper and he nods.

"What's happening?" He asks quickly, seriously, like he understands the urgency I feel in my chest.

"He's coming down here." I whisper before I realise how stupid that must seem to him.

He just nods.

"Okay. What should we do?" He asks then and I understand exactly what he's saying between the lines. He's saying he's not going anywhere. But it's too dangerous, _I'm_ too dangerous.

"You can't stay in here, Kurt." I say quickly and he frowns.

"I am staying, Blaine. So, please, just tell me what we're doing here." he says firmly and I don't have time to argue with him.

"Close the door." I say quickly and he does, flicking the lock across before he comes he sit next to me, sleep still controlling his limbs, his shoulder bumps into mine.

"Do you feel safe now?" He asks softly and I shake my head.

"What do we need to do?" he asks seriously and I don't even have the ability to describe how much that means to me.

"Build a barricade." I mutter sheepishly and he nods. Instantly sliding his laundry basket across the floor, lining it up perfectly with the door. He spins around then and I watch as he searches through his cupboards, grabs anything remotely box shaped and piles it onto the laundry basket.

"You sort that out." he says, "I'll find more things, okay?"

I nod and start lining the boxes up and by the time I'm done, and he's given my everything he possibly can, the room seems so much _lighter._

"Is that ... good enough?" He asks carefully but I understand exactly what he means, he's asking me if it's enough to keep a flashback away, he's asking me if he's going to be trapped in his bathroom while me father beats me.

"I- I think so." I say, listening for footsteps but I can hear them. I look at Kurt then.

Kurt's just helped me keep my father away.

He's just kept me safe and that is utterly _mind blowing_.

This feels like such a milestone.

"T-thank you. I.. I know it's crazy." I say and he shakes his head, quickly.

"No, it's not crazy, Blaine, and I don't mind helping, okay? Come here." he says and I move closer to him then, I let him wrap an arm across my shoulders.

"Can you sleep?" He asks and I shake my head, "No."

"_Try._" he says, "I'm right here, Blaine, I'm not going anywhere... and we have that too." He whispers as he points to our barricade.

I know that, realistically, a laundry basket, a box of tissues and a make-up bag can't save me but I feel like they can, in this moment they _can_, and that's what matters.

"Do you want me to sing to you?" He asks gently and I nod.

"Only if you want to, though. It _is_ two in the morning, Kurt." I reason and he just smiles knowingly at me.

"You know me, Blaine, every moment is an opportunity for song."

I smile at that.

He uses his free hand to settle my head on his chest then, "Just close your eyes, for me, okay?"

I nod and push my face into his chest.

I listen to him sing then, as I sit with his safe, warm arms wrapped tightly around me. Kurt's voice is full of tenderness, full of sadness, full of love but we're both still staring at the door. We're both still wondering if he's really gone. If he ever will be. And I don't know the answer to that. I just don't. So, I force myself to focus on Kurt's voice. I let him keep me safe behind our barricade. There's a grief that can't be spoken.  
>There's a pain goes on and on.<br>Empty chairs at empty tables  
>Now my friends are dead and gone.<p>

Here they talked of revolution.  
>Here it was they lit the flame.<br>Here they sang about `tomorrow'  
>And tomorrow never came.<p>

From the table in the corner,  
>They could see a world reborn<br>And they rose with voices ringing  
>And I can hear them now!<br>The very words that they had sung  
>Became their last communion.<p>

On the lonely barricade, at dawn.

o~o~o 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15.

* * *

><p>o~o~o<p>

When consciousness finally hits me, it doesn't hit me like a brick, like it usual does, it hits me like a bag of feathers and for a moment I genuinely can't understand why I'm not scared, why my heart isn't pounding in my chest; why my cheeks aren't wet, why my eyes aren't stinging and searching for shifting shapes in swollen shadows. Then I feel it, I feel the soft touches of Kurt's fingers as they dance effortlessly through the curls of my hair and that explains everything. Absolutely everything.

Softly, carefully, tenderly his fingers move in unison, rotating in sporadic circles, sending deep shivers through my body and gentle, despondent gasps past my lips because I suddenly remember where I am. I suddenly remember what happened last night in startling clarity, the childish things I said, the childish things I did. The way Kurt played along with me, with so much blind conviction; his solid determination to prove to me that it was okay, that I was okay, that I wasn't alone. My heart skips a beat just thinking about it but my heart swells as I remember him standing in the doorway, wide eyed, refusing to leave me alone with the violent phantom of my father. But it was so much more than him refusing to leave me alone, it really was. In those moments Kurt was refusing to let me hurt myself; he was refusing to let me spiral out of control, he was refusing to let me suffocate. Kurt gave me the ounce of unwavering stability that I needed so desperately in that horrifying moment and I will never forget that. I can't ever forget that. Not ever.

I lift my eyes a little then and I'm met with the inevitable sight of the barricade that we built in the tiny hours of the morning, I take it in. Tens of tiny boxes stacked squarely on top of each other, they wouldn't be able to stop a gust of wind, I can't help but cringe. My eyes shutting tightly as my cheeks flush an unpleasant red and shame builds steadily in my chest. It rises through me at such a rate that my skin starts burning and Kurt's fingers start to sting. I try to move away from his hand then. I try to pull away but Kurt just shifts next to me, his hand falling from my head downwards to the small of my back, his thumb moving in soft but very present circles. Circles that seem to overwhelm me far too easily and leave me feeling impossibly fragile. I'm overly aware that I could completely fall apart right now.

_Kurt is still here for me. _

Part of me expected him to be gone this morning because of what happened last night. Though, a much bigger part of me feels _awful_ for even thinking that because Kurt is my best friend and he loves me and he knows that this his hard and he promised to help me regardless and I just dismissed that like it was nothing. But it was just never meant to be like this, I was never supposed to be this vulnerable, especially not in front of him. Not _Kurt. _He was so hurt, so unhappy, when we first met and he needed my strength and sometimes pretending to be strong for his sake was actually enough for me to really believe that I was. But now he knows the truth and I know that sitting here, on his bathroom floor, with that stupid barricade mocking me, isn't _strong_. Not at all. This is me feeling hopelessly helpless.

I try to pull away from Kurt one last time but he won't let me budge and I know he must feel the heat coming off me now. The shame and the embarrassment that I'm feeling are sending my temperature through the roof. I feel like my skin is on fire but he still wont let me go. I need to stand up, push that stupid barricade over, and run away and I think that maybe Kurt knows that. I think maybe that's why he wont let me move an inch...

"It's okay, Blaine." Kurt says then in a soft, clear, sleep-free greeting.

His busy fingers pausing at my back as he waits for my reply. I don't know what to say, what I can say, so I just bite my lip nervously. I can't take my eyes away from the make-up bag that sits on top of the tissue box and I feel so stupid right now. I feel so _silly._

Then I wonder how long Kurt's been staring at it, because I'm almost certain that he has, because how couldn't you, and I wonder how long he's been waiting for me to wake up. I wonder how long he's been sitting here.

"How long have you been awake?" I ask eventually and I can feel Kurt shrugging behind me dismissively as he says, "About two hours."

I groan. He shouldn't have done that.

"_Kurt_, you should have just left me here." I say sincerely because he shouldn't have been sitting in here, in his twisted position, with an arm wrapped around me for two hours, he should have carried on with his day. He doesn't owe me anything and he'd certainly never owe me _this_. He's giving me too much of himself. Far too much. Much more than I deserve.

My muscles tense.

"You're worrying again, I can feel it in your body." Kurt says tenderly, his deft fingers tapping gently at my back, "I wanted to stay here, Blaine, so don't torment yourself over it." Kurt reassures firmly but it's not something that settles easily on my conscience. It just isn't.

It seems far too wrong.

"You could've just gone back to your bed as soon as I was asleep, Kurt. I wouldn't have known." I try honestly and Kurt shakes his head quickly. Moving to his knees swiftly, he shuffles in front of me, his hands grabbing at mine. I draw in a long, shaky breath as he squeezes our palms together and then lets them hang between us. When he doesn't say anything I look up and I can't help but observe the concern in his eyes and the soft, tentative smile that lingers on his soft lips. I can see it so clearly then, Kurt was never afraid of me. He wasn't lying yesterday. I look away, I feel so embarrassed, I feel like I've made an even bigger fool of myself.

"Please look at me." he says desperately then and he sounds so sincere that I drag my eyes upwards to meet his, "Blaine, I said that I'd stay with you in case he came back to hurt you… and I really did mean that. I mean absolutely everything I say to you, Blaine, and I hope you understand that? I _need_you to understand that. Because you've done so much for me and it's very important that you let me do the same for you, even though this is going to be really hard for us." He smiles softly then and I can feel his tearful eyes on me just as much as I can feel his strong hands.

"I'm-" I start quietly before I cut myself off but Kurt nods encouragingly and my mouth starts moving without permission, "I'm sorry I involved you in my _crazy_. I never… I never meant for anyone to be implicated in my drama. Especially not you, Kurt; especially not your family." I share and I feel like I've said this to him a hundred times but my heart keeps telling me to say it one last time, _just one more time_, and then maybe he'll see how much of a burden I really am. Maybe he'll see the truth.

My eyes slip to the floor.

"We need to talk about this, Blaine." Kurt whispers then, his voice laced with complete sadness, as he takes one of his hands back and uses it to prop up my chin, my eyes trying desperately hard not to look at his.

"No, we don't." I say quickly, slamming my eyes shut, my teeth pressed firmly together. I shake my head; I can't look at him.

Kurt makes an awful sound, barely above a breath, and it's absolutely heartbreaking.

"Yes, we do, we _really_ do, Blaine. When you can't _look_ at me that hurts me. When you keep calling yourself a _burden_ you upset me, you upset my dad, and I know that you don't mean to… but it still hurts.. not because you don't believe we're telling you the truth but because you don't believe you're _worth_ caring for. You're my best friend and I love you, okay? I _really_love you, Blaine." I can hear the tears in his voice now and my face starts to collapse, "The only person I care about more than you is my dad." He whispers and I bite my lip because I can feel the emotion surging through my chest. One of Kurt's hands is still squeezing mine tightly but the other is softly cupping my cheek now, his thumb smoothing backwards and forwards over my skin.

"Blaine," he continues then, but his voice is much, much quieter now, it's so soft that it's almost completely inaudible, "You're not _crazy_, okay? I don't like you calling yourself crazy because it's just not true. You've just escaped a life of abuse, because that's what it was, Blaine, it was _abuse_ and that doesn't just get better. But, I _promise_you, there's nothing wrong with you. I promise you.. " he wraps his arms around my shoulders then, his warm breath ghosting over my neck, "You're absolutely perfect."

I enclose my own arms around Kurt then and for a while we just cling to one another, on our knees, tears slipping down our faces, our necks pressed firmly together and we don't need to say anything.

Our bodies are saying everything that needs to be said; they're saying:

_I am here for you, always._

o~o~o

Finn edges towards me the second we're alone in the kitchen, his face is overly apologetic and his eyes are brimming with regret. It's not exactly surprising that he's waited until we were alone to come and talk to me, he's been standing by the sink, clutching a cup for fifteen minutes and that had to mean something. He's been staring at me from the corner of his eyes all morning, as Kurt and I ate our breakfasts together, but now Kurt's gone- because he dropped green tea down his shirt- that's given Finn a perfect opportunity. We're totally alone now.

He shifts awkwardly, uncomfortably, as he stands next to me, moving his weight continuously between the balls of both his feet. He's not standing quite as tall as he usual is either and that alone is a little off putting. Finn Hudson is tall in a lot of different ways and seeing him look so small is utterly unnerving. I don't like it. Not at all. It's not familiar to me, this uncertain, careful Finn that's standing next to me.

"I'm sorry." he mutters then, suddenly, quietly, and I nod.

So, he's here to apologise to me.

I should have expected this really because he's a good person and that plus Carole equals an apology. Every single time.

My fork stabs aimlessly into one of Kurt's delicious healthy heart pancakes and I don't quite know where to look but I guess his face is a good option because he looks really nervous and I don't want him to think I'm not paying him any attention because I'm listening to him. I really am.

"I know you're sorry, Finn. We're all sorry." I say honestly and he grimaces. His eyebrows knitting together like he doesn't _want_to be let off the hook that easily. He lets the silence hang between us for a moment and then he tries again.

"I.. I shouldn't have pushed you to talk. My mom said that you were obviously uncomfortable and I should have noticed... and she's right." Finn offers and I just nod again.

"It's okay, Finn." I supply then and his mouth forms a tight line. Like he's very unhappy with himself and I don't like seeing _anybody_like that, least of all Finn.

"What happened in the hallway yesterday.. I just.. I've never seen anything like that and I just.. I just wanted to tell you that I think you're the _bravest_person I've ever met, Blaine." I can feel my brow furrow and my cheeks flush as I gawk at him because I hadn't expected that. He looks at me hopefully and smiles.

"Thank you." I mutter, utterly bewildered, and he smiles at me so softly then. And, as if by magic, his confidence steadily restores itself. It's such a beautiful thing to witness. His shoulders pulling themselves backwards, his eyes lighting up again.

"Kurt really likes you, Blaine, and he's my brother now and I.. I know I can be pretty dumb sometimes but I just want you to know that I'd never do something to upset you on purpose.. you matter to Kurt; so you matter to _me_." He says firmly and I smile back at him then.

He holds out a friendly fist and I instinctively curl my own hand up before I bump it into his. I feel like I've gained an older brother today, even though I'm not sure that Finn is actually older than me, and I know that I really need to remember this feeling, especially today. I have a lot going on today. A lot of stuff that could hurt me just as soon as help me and having a big brother to back me up really can't hurt.

Nothing can hurt me, not anymore. I make those choices now.

o~o~o

Knowing the right people gets things done, it has to, because Carole called one of her friends late last night, a therapist, and now I have an appointment with them in less than ten minutes. I wasn't even aware that therapists worked on Sundays but apparently they do, which makes sense because people don't stop hurting just because it's the weekend. That would be stupid. But I'm not really interested in the work habits of therapists, or of anyone, for that matter. I'm just trying to think about anything other than the fact that, in a mere ten minutes, a mental health professional is going to be asking me questions and lurking around inside my brain. Searching through those private places that no one has any right to be in, trying to find all of the answers to all of my problems. It sounds ridiculous, it even sounds ridiculous in my head, but I'm not stupid, I know that I need help. Help that knows exactly what it's doing. I can't let my father follow me around forever, I can't let him haunt me. I'm trying to get my life back, I'm trying to be as strong as I pretended to be for Kurt. I just really hope this therapist isn't male because I'm still a little uncertain of older men in general and I don't think I'll be able to just walk into a room, close the door, and tell them things I haven't told anyone before.

In fact, I _know_I'd never be able to do that.

Burt is the only person with me, Kurt wanted to come, of course he did, but Burt wouldn't let him. Because: _Kurt, he has to do this for himself, son_and Burt is right, I do have to do this for me. Burt is walking a couple of steps ahead of me, like he has been since we got out of the car, but he hasn't mentioned me falling a few steps behind and I'm grateful for that. I'm just feeling so nervous.

When we do reach the building Burt pushes the door open utterly fearlessly and strides into the warmth of the waiting room; there's not an ounce of hesitation in the older Hummel and I'm so damn thankful for that. If he had hesitated, if he had lingered, just for a second, I don't know what that would have meant for me. I don't know what that would have done to the fear I have lingering near my heart or the shame that's blossoming in my chest and blooming on my cheeks.

Burt holds the door open for me- it's wide enough to allow me through but not so wide that the receptionist can see me. _I have to make this choice_. Burt told me that on the drive here and he's reminded me several times since. This has to be my choice, even though _he _thinks I need to be here. If I truly don't want this , if this is doing more harm than good, then we'll just turn right around and he'll take me to his house, no questions, no explanations. It'll just happen, if it needs to, if I can't do this.. he'll just take me away… but I _can_do this. Can't I?

I _need_to do this.

I take the plunge then, I take a tentative step forward and Burt smiles at me before he looks around the room and I do the same. I didn't know what to expect but it's a small space warmed beautifully by walls coated in burnt oranges and deep browns and the plush chairs that line the room in such an abstract manner make everything seem so informal. Like if you sat down you could pretend you were in a café somewhere and not in a waiting room and that alone makes me want to find the designer and give them a hug because the layout of this room is keeping a few of my nerves at bay. It looks like a rustic coffee shop and I'm just not afraid of coffee shops, or cafes, they've always been good places, safe places, for me. Places where Kurt and I could talk after school, places where I could forget.

"You find a seat, and I'll tell the receptionist we're here." Burt offers and I nod, walking awkwardly to the closest chair and throwing myself down into it. I still feel incredibly nervous and my hands are sweating and my cheeks are burning but this isn't as awful as I thought it would be.

When Burt walks back over to me he's holding several sheets of paper, a reassuring smile hanging onto his lips, I didn't know we were going to have to fill things out. He must see me staring at the paper.

"These," Burt says, handing me two of the three sheets of paper, "Are consent forms. You just have to read them through and sign them, then I'll sign them too, I brought you a pen over." Burt hands me the pen then and I start reading, it's something about consent and confidentiality and the law but I don't really pay that much attention to what it's actually saying, I just sign my name at the bottom hurriedly and give them back to Burt. I watch as he reads them over properly, then glances at me, smiles and signs his name too. It's really strange, seeing his name written next to mine. My hasty, shaky 'Blaine Anderson' next to his strong, bold 'Burt Hummel'. They're a lot like us, I think.

"What's that one?" I ask quietly, pointing at the third piece of paper that rests on Burt's thighs.

"Oh, this one's just a fees list and that's nothing for you to worry about, son." He says sincerely and I'm suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that he keeps calling me 'son' and overpowering guilt. This session is costing them money, money they've worked extremely hard for. They shouldn't be just throwing it away on me. I'm just some boy the barely knew a month ago and now they're spending hundreds of dollars on me.

"_Mr Hummel-_" I start but Burt, he just shakes his head and moves his hand so that it's resting softly on my thigh. He gives my leg a comforting squeeze and then says, "Don't. Blaine, it's okay. If it wasn't we wouldn't be here. This isn't a problem, okay?"

I'm about to open my mouth again to protest when a door opens and a woman in her early thirties emerges, her long red hair draped carefully over her shoulders.

"Blaine?" she says then, a comfortable smile on her face as she locks her eyes on mine, "Blaine Anderson?" She says again and this time I nod. She's a woman. _She's a woman_. I let out a shaky breath then and I bite my lip nervously before I stand. I only look back at Burt once, as I walk towards the stranger, and my heart his pounding. He smiles broadly at me then and nods his head encouragingly. So, when the woman in front of me opens the door to her office I walk straight inside. I'm not sure if I look it but I'm still absolutely terrified.

Once she's closed the door behind us she says, "Please, sit wherever you like." And so I take the chair closest to the door, mainly out of instinct, and watch as she pulls a chair over, so she's sitting opposite me, only a few feet of carpet separating us. From here I can see all of the freckles on her skin and the soft green of her eyes, she's so beautiful.

"I hope you found the building okay?" she asks as she settles herself down and I just nod.

"Good, I'm glad. My name is Ellen and today we're just going to get to know each other."

"O-okay." I say quietly, my voice clearly revealing my nervousness.

"Don't be nervous. There's nothing to be scared of here, Blaine." she says softly and it's hard not to be taken in by her astoundingly reassuring manner. I just nod, my fingers playing and pressing each other anxiously.

"Firstly, I just want to make sure you understand that anything you say to me is entirely confidential, nothing you say in here will ever leave the room. Do you understand that?"

"Yeah." I say quietly and she smiles again.

"Is it okay if I record our time together, I don't like taking notes, I'd rather just talk to you. If that's okay?" She asks and again I just nod.

"Good, so what is it that brought you here today, Blaine?" She says evenly, getting straight to the point.

"Oh- I.. I…" I stutter and she stops me.

"You don't have to tell me everything, Blaine, maybe just tell me what's bothering you the most right now." she offers, a helpful smile sitting on her lips. It takes me a while to know what to say, or how to say it, and my finger nails are cutting into my skin. I'm not sure about this. I'm not sure at all.. but I made it this far.

"I feel.. I feel like I'm lost." I whisper stupidly, expecting her to raise an eyebrow but she doesn't.

"Is that a new feeling, for you?" she asks softly and I nod, my brow furrowing harshly, I don't like talking about this.

"I never used to feel like this, I used to.. I used to feel like I had control." I whisper and I feel so stupid that I feel my own lip snarl upwards in disgust.

"Did you have control?" she asks.

"N-no, not at all. But I thought I did." I confess quietly, bending my fingers backwards.

"What changed?"

"P-people found out." I say quietly, my voice wavering treacherously. I sound so pathetic.

"Who found out?" she asks then and I drag my eyes to a spot on the carpet. This is too much.

"My best friend. His family. Puck."

"Who's Puck?" She say then and it's so hard to read the emotions in her voice.

"The p-person who found out f-first." I say cringing as I stutter through the sentence, my hand reaching up to tug at my hair, my teeth biting at my lip. I wince, it still hurts from yesterday. Tears build in my eyes.

"How did that happen, Blaine?" she asks and I feel my face twitch. I'm going to cry. _This is too much._

"I was so stupid, I.. I let my guard down." I whisper, my eyes still on the carpet, "I fell asleep a-and the make-up it just… it just rubbed right off and he saw it.. he _saw_ my secret. I'd t-tried so hard to keep it to myself but he saw everything. He _knew_." I say and my voice is so much higher now.

"What did he see, Blaine?" she asks then and my eyes are blurring. I'm so stupid.

"Those _disgusting_bruises." I spit, my revulsion turning into a broken whimper.

"What did Puck do?" she says and I can feel my heart pounding now.

"He said that I should have told someone.. he gave me his number so I could call him… if I needed to." I mumble and now my hand is tightening its grip on my bicep, stroking up and down erratically as the tears that are swimming in my eyes threaten to fall.

"Did you call him?" she asks then.

"Yes." I whisper in disgust.

"You regret that?" she says then and I wonder how obvious it is but I just nod.

"Why did you regret it?" she asks next.

"Because it changed _everything _and I couldn't.. I couldn't pretend to be strong anymore." I whisper and then the tears spill over my eyelids and down my face. My fingernails dig into my arm and I turn my face away from her.

"How did you get the bruises, Blaine?" she say carefully and I just shake my head. So _stupid!_

"M-my father." I cry and a small sob slips past my lips.

"Did he make you feel unsafe in your home, Blaine?" she asks then and I nod as my face collapses.

"Every single day." I reply, my breathing broken.

"Are you safe now?" she asks and I nod.

"Yes, for the first time in a long time…. Burt and Carole… they won't let me go back to that house." I share and the tears are absolutely pouring out of my eyes now. I don't ever have to go back there but my hands are shaking.

"How do you feel about that?" she asks.

"Grateful…. because… I _want_to go back sometimes." I whisper the last few words barely crossing my lips.

"Why do you want to go back?" she asks then and I shake my head. She can't ask me that. I bring a hand to my eyes and try to use my knuckles to stop the tears.

"Because I'm.. I'm not good enough to be… normal." I confess and two loud sobs burst out of my mouth because that's the truth of it.

"Why aren't you goo enough, Blaine?" she asks then and her voice is much quieter now.

"Because.. because I'm _dirty_ and I'm so _stupid_." I sob bitterly, "I _let_ him hurt me for eight _years_. Who.. who d-does that? I'm so _pathetic_, I let him do that to me. I let him push me around and say those _horrible_ things. I let him _terrify_me!" I wail and there are tremors running throughout my body now, my legs are absolutely shaking.

"When did he start scaring you, Blaine." she asks softly and I rock forward in my seat, the heels on my hands pressed tightly against my eyes. When I pull back I can't breathe properly and my face is sore from the wet mix of my tears and my own snot. _I'm so disgusting._

"I was …eight.. and my mom.. _Oh, God_, she'd just died and I thought... I thought that it was my fault. I thought it was _me_." I whimper and I still can't look up. Heavy breaths jolting out of my body. I've never told anyone this before. I feel like my insides are going to devour me.

"Blaine?" she says and for a while I just cry.

"It was so late and I had a _stupid_ cold.. and she went out to buy more medicine.. it was so dark outside, too dark, and I remember watching her drive away.. and she.. she just never came home. They said the other driver was at fault but it was me.. I know it was me. I wasn't even ill the next day.. I was just so heart broken because she was my best friend a-and I couldn't understand why she wasn't coming home. My father.. he never talked to me after that.. he just... he just hurt me... but I killed my mom. So, I deserved it, didn't I? I _killed_her." I sob and I can't even pretend anymore. My body starts to jerk as I cry.

"No, Blaine, you didn't deserve it." she says quickly but I just shake my head.

"Then … then why would he do that to me? I thought- I thought he _loved_me." I whisper and my voice is completely destroyed.

"I don't know why he did what he did, Blaine, but it wasn't your fault." she promises and I look at her for the first time then. She looks so sad, her eyes are pink and I want to keep looking her but I just _can't._

"You don't know that." I cry and as quick as lightening she says, "Blaine, that's the only thing I _do_know about you."

"I'm so sorry." I cry then but she says, "Don't be sorry, not in here."

"It's just.. he did so many _horrible_ things.. you know… and I thought.. I thought he was going to ….kill me… every single day.. I thought I was going to die. I just wanted to be brave.. I just wanted to be strong.. and then I met Kurt and he needed… he needed a friend and I thought.. I thought I could be _that_ guy. Then he got so.. he got so damn _courageous_and I.. I just completely fell apart. My defences crumbled." I sob.

"That's okay." She reassures softly.

"_No_, it's not. I saw Kurt become so _happy_.. I'd listen to him talk about his dad and then… I started to wonder what I'd done to deserve my father.. because I wasn't a bad child. I _wasn't_. I don't remember doing anything wrong … but everyday he'd tell me that I was. Then he'd call me disgusting.. then he'd call me a _filthy fucking faggot._" I whimper and my nails are jabbing into my arms again. I'm a _dirty faggot._

"Blaine.." she says but I just shake my head as tears continue to slide under my chin and down my neck.

"I just couldn't stand that.. so, I'd fight him because he wasn't just talking about me anymore.. he was talking about w-wonderful people like Kurt too. And I- I couldn't fight him for myself but I could fight him for _Kurt_…. you know.. but that just made him hit me harder and I couldn't fight back.. my body.. it wouldn't move and so I'd just.. I'd just stand there and let him choke me, or hit me or _spit_ on me and I couldn't stop it.. I couldn't make it stop.. I just wanted it to _stop_." a wail leaves my lips and I pull my legs up on the chair, burying my face in my knees.

"Blaine, It's all over now." she says softly but I shake my head.

"No. No, it's _not_ because he's in my head now. I can smell him, I can hear him, he still hurts me and that hurts me even more because.. I thought it was finally over. I thought I could live.. but I was wrong. I was so _wrong._" I mumble into my jeans and there's a silence between us for a while, where all I can hear is my own shaky breathing and myself crying.

"You've had flashbacks?" She says carefully and I nod, or I try to, but I'm sure my head hardly moves.

"I terrified everyone." I whispers in a heartbreaking confession and then, "I don't want to be my father."

"You're not your father, Blaine." she promises.

"I scared them, I scared Kurt." I cry and I'm clinging to the material of my jeans now.

"Did Kurt tell you that?" she says then and I shake my head.

"N-no. He said.. he was only scared of m-my father." I stumble and thinking of Kurt makes me cry impossibly harder.

"Is there a reason for you not to believe him?" she asks then and a long, heavy breath slips out of my mouth.

"No." I choke out.

"Then you should believe him. You need to let people help you, Blaine." she promises and I tighten the grip on my legs.

"But what if they can't help me?" I say quietly, dreading the answer.

"When you step into their home what do you feel?" She asks then and I sniffle before I think about their house, think of the warmth, the scents, the people, the happiness, the understanding.

"Warm." I say then.

"What else?"

"Love." I whisper and my crying calms down. I loosen my fingers and my knuckles flush pink from their white.

"What else?"

"Safe." I say at last and I'm still not looking at her but I know she's smiling.

"Then they can definitely help you, Blaine. And I'm here too. And we'll work at making your father stay away together, okay? We'll make you feel safe in your own head. We'll find your control again." she promises and I peek at her then from behind my legs.

"Okay." I mutter and she nods.

"I think you've done a lot of talking today, Blaine, and I want to give you a break. I'll give you my phone number and if you'd like to come again and talk to me, just phone tomorrow, okay?" she says as she stands up and walks to a nearby cupboard, pulling out a small business card and a box of tissues. She hands them both to me. I put the card in my pocket and take a tissue from the box, wiping my face and my nose. Tears are still slipping out of the corners of my eyes but it's nothing compared to earlier and eventually, after I've sat in silence for a while I let my legs slip back down and my feet touch the floor.

"Thank you." I whisper then and she just nods.

"Blaine, I'm going to give you something now. It doesn't matter if you come back to me or not but this will help you, okay?" she says as she shows me a notebook. I take it from her and she smiles. I sniffle and wipe my eyes again, flicking through the empty pages before I look back at her.

"Every time you feel scared, write down what you were doing before it happened. Every time you feel safe, write down what you did to feel that way. Eventually you'll notice it's the same things again and again and those are the things you need to avoid or encourage. This is just for you, Blaine. If you come back we'll talk about it. But it's _yours_and you don't have to show anyone unless you want to, okay?" She explains and I nod in agreement.

"O-okay." I whisper and my voice is still full of emotion.

"Thank you for coming here, Blaine. You've made so many big steps today. I know you're still upset right now but you told me a lot of things you probably haven't told anyone else before and that will make you feel lighter soon. I promise." she says, sincerity burning in her eyes, and then, "Are you okay to go home with Mr Hummel, right now?"

"Y-yes. I think so." I say quietly, balling the tissues in my hand. She stands then and I follow suit. We walk to the door in silence and my mind is racing, a hundred thousand thoughts racing through my head all at one.

"Take care of yourself, Blaine." Ellen says then, as she opens the door, and I nod before I step out of the safety of her office and into the warmth of the waiting room.

The tears start sliding down my face again.

Burt walks straight over to me then, as the door behind me clicks shut, wrapping his arms tightly around my body. He doesn't say anything, he just lets me cling to him, one of his hands moving up to cup the back of my head as my body starts to shudder. My face is in his shirt. A sob bursts past my lips and I feel it then, wet droplets falling onto my face and rolling down my neck.

But those tears aren't mine. They're Burt's.

I press my face further into his chest then.

I let him hold me.

He lets me cry.

And I discover that home isn't a place, it's a feeling.

o~o~o


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16.

* * *

><p>o~o~o<p>

Right now, I feel like nothing in the world can touch me, _nothing_, not while I'm still sitting here, in the irrefutable safety of Burt's car, and that's such a wonderful, unfamiliar, empowering feeling that I can't help but smile. It's not a wide, toothy, heart-bursting grin but a soft, heartfelt expression and that still has to mean something. This, whatever _this_ is, is my home and Burt Hummel, well, he's my home too. He makes me feel unafraid and unashamed of the thoughts and feelings that I'm so used to being humiliated by. He embraces my opinions and the little things that make me Blaine Anderson, I don't have to be who I'm not around him; I don't have to filter myself, it's perfectly fine for me to be _me_ and whatever that entails. It's perfectly okay for me to spend my weekends pouring over books and musical scores, it's perfectly okay for me to watch those old, black and white romantic movies and recite them back to the screen, word for word; it's perfectly okay for me to be gay. Those things don't warrant punishment. Those things aren't bad. Those things don't make me more or less of a man. It's absolutely okay to be everything that I am and that may seem really obvious to you but for most of my life I've been told that everything I do is wrong; that my best just wasn't good enough. And all by the only man that I've ever wanted to impress. It's a lot to wrap my head around.

We pull into the driveway of the Hummel-Hudson household, a soft yellow light illuminating the front door, calling us inside with it's majestic, symbolic warmth, as Burt brings us to a steady halt. Burt's such a careful driver and for obvious reasons, reasons that involve my mom, that gives me a lot of comfort. I don't feel like I have to worry about him quite as much, even though I still will. I know I'll never _not_ worry about that because cars just make me far too nervous. I wonder then if I should write that down in the book that Ellen gave me. I glance down at the notebook, resting on my thighs, and then quickly out of the window. I freeze when I see myself. Even through the slightly blurred transparency of the glass I can see my bright, flushed cheeks and my sore, slightly swollen eyelids. I instinctively reach out a hand and pull down the passenger-side mirror. I look absolutely awful. I let out a huff of disgust.

Burt sits stoically next to me as I stare at myself in the small mirror. My eyes boring critically into my reflection but Burt's eyes aren't even on me, it's like he knows. We haven't exchanged a word, not since we started the drive back, we've just been surrounded by silence but it's not that awkward, uncomfortable silence. It's that soft, familiar, comfortable kind of silence. The silence you fall asleep to when you're at your most relaxed. It's like being wrapped in big, warm blanket while your head sinks into a plump, soft pillow. It's the _perfect_ kind of silence. I think Burt understands that and he knows that, right now, I just need a moment to myself. I need to do this, I need to see what I really look like. I don't want to look dreadful when I get out of this car and walk into that house because I _know_ they'll all be waiting for me, of course they will, they care, and I just don't want them to worry about me or look at me with those sad eyes. Because despite everything that's happened today, despite the intensity and the emotion, I already feel lighter. Like a tiny part of the load has been taken off my back and pulled away from my shoulders and I don't want to ruin that with the way I look. I don't want them to get the wrong impression and start assuming that today was fruitless because something happened today and even though I can't quite put my finger on it I know that it's huge.

Both of my cheeks are stained with dark, deep red blotches and my eyelids are so heavy and swollen that a soft gasp slips past my lips when I try to look into my own eyes. I'd have to sit out here for hours for this to go away- for the blotches to fade and for my eyes to look normal again. I can't help but think that even when my father beat me, even when I had a face full of bruises, even when I had to skip school to keep it all a secret, I never looked _this_ bad. My eyes look so different now. Sometimes I can't recognise myself and that worries me at first but then I just end up wondering if I even knew myself to begin with. I'm not sure that I did. I'm not sure that my father didn't suffocate and smother me beyond recognition. Even to myself. I turn my head away then and flip the mirror up before I press my forehead against the glass, it's so cold that it's almost soothing against the brilliant warmth of my skin. I shiver.

"You okay, buddy?" Burt asks then and I shake my head as my mood starts to plummet, I don't have the energy to lie to him and I wouldn't anyway- not to Burt. We've been through too much, especially today. We sat in the car park behind Ellen's office for an hour and a half today; before I'd calmed down enough to breathe and Burt was convinced enough to draw his arms back from me and start driving. How could I lie to him? He lets me live in his house, he's bought me new clothes, he feeds me three times a day, the talks to me about my feelings, he's building my self-esteem back up and he paid for me to see Ellen earlier. Out of everyone, I think I owe Burt the most.

"I'm just so tired." I whisper eventually and we both know that there are layers of meaning in that statement. I'm exhausted because I can't sleep at night. I'm run down because of what happened today. I just want to fall asleep. I just need a break for a while. A moment of peace. Though, it's not like before, I don't want to fall asleep and never wake up, I just want to fall asleep so I have the energy in the morning to _live_. I'm sick of clinging to 'okay' while a tempest of uncertainty brews ferociously in my mind. I need calmer tides, softer winds and a beacon of hope. Mostly, though, I just need to breathe. I just need to step away from the intensity of my life for a while.

"You can go straight to bed, you don't have to see anyone." Burt reassures then and I frown. I wonder if he can see it on my face or reflected in the glass because he can definitely see it. That much is obvious by the way he shifts.

"They'll worry about me." I whisper sincerely into the window, my breath forming a cloud of condensation, and Burt reaches out a steady hand then, because his hands are always steady, and places it softly on top of mine.

"It's okay to do things for yourself, son, that doesn't make you selfish." Burt promises and I look back at him then, his eyes urging me to believe him. My own eyes start to fill because he's calling me 'son' again and more than anything I wish that I was his son. In the short time I've known him Burt's been more of a dad to me than my father has been in his entire life. He lets me know that he cares.

"I just want to sleep without waking up scared." I whisper then as I drag my eyes to our hands, his thumb stroking over mine. Even men like Burt, manly men, men who like sports, own a garage, wear plaid and watch The Deadliest Catch, they can do this too and it's _okay. _I think of all the excuses I've made for my father over the years, on his behalf, and I cringe. None of that was my fault. I can see that now.

"Look, Blaine, it's alright, I'll tell them you're tired. That's an okay thing to do here." Burt reassures and I nod.

"Can you- can you send Kurt down? I need him to sleep properly… I know that sounds so pathetic and weak and it probably is but-" Burt shakes his head and it stops me short.

"Don't do that, kid, don't belittle yourself like you and your feelings don't matter." he says firmly and I can't help but think of Kurt, they sound so alike sometimes, "It's okay to need support and comfort from the people who care about you, Blaine." He finishes firmly and I nod.

"Thank you." Is say sincerely and when I look back up to his eyes he squeezes my hand.

"You're welcome. Now go and get some real sleep. Kurt will be down as soon as he sees me, no doubt." He shares with a knowing smile and I smile back at him as we climb out of the car.

I slam the car door closed then and the THUD it causes makes me jump out of my skin. My heart's pounding again. My eyes are flying open. I look from Burt's concerned face down to the notebook in my hands and I think I probably ought to write that down because it happens a lot. 

o~o~o

I've been alone in Kurt's room for less than ten minutes when he emerges from the stairs. Burt was right, he obviously came down here as soon as he could, I feel a small smile ghost over my lips. I'm sitting comfortably on his bed, my back against his head board, the notebook that Ellen gave me open on my thighs and a heap of cushions and pillows surrounding me to keep me upright.

Kurt looks so beautiful as he walks towards me and I just can't take my eyes off him, his hair is as perfect as it always is, coiffed in that way that squares out his face and gives him a whole new edge. His perfectly coordinated clothes cling to him in all the right places, drawing attention to his beautiful legs and his broadening chest. His body is changing everyday and yet everyday he somehow knows where to bring the attention. I put the pen I'm holding down then and I look at him, I _really_ look at him. He's absolutely breathtaking. He chooses that moment to pull an arm from behind his back and in doing so he reveals a white, cardboard box.

"Hey, you." he says when he reaches his bed, only faltering slightly when he sees my face, he doesn't say a word about it. He just smiles warmly at me and my heart skips a beat.

"I got us something from the store while you were out today." Kurt says casually as he climbs onto the bed, folding his legs underneath himself and settling down a few feet away from me.

"What is it?" I ask curiously, gesturing to the box, and he smiles, like he's proud of himself, a knowing look plastered on his face.

"You keep waking up at night." he says then, somewhat obviously, and I frown.

"Yes, I do." I say carefully, waiting to see where this is going, even though I can already feel my defences building, my muscles tensing and my back straightening.

"And then, when you're awake, your father tries to hurt you." Kurt says finishes quietly, his eyes slipping downwards. He looks so vulnerable when he does that and I don't like that, not at all. I want to reach out and lift his chin up but I don't because I'm really too exhausted to talk about this right now.

"Kurt- I'm too tired to think about this.. I just want to-" I start purposefully and his head shoots up. His eyes searching mine quickly.

"No. _No_, that's not what I mean. Okay, let me explain. You lock yourself in my bathroom because that makes you feel safe, right?" He asks swiftly and I nod, "But you can't sleep in the bathroom forever, Blaine. So, I bought us this." he says softly, his face lighting up again.

"What is it?" I ask once more and this time he opens the box and hands it over to me. Letting me look at it before he continues.

"It's a lock for the door, the bedroom door, it's really secure and the guy who sold it to me said that no one would be able to break it down. Not ever." Kurt says proudly and I tilt my head at him in confusion.

"Y-you did that for me?" I ask, bewildered by his kindness, my mouth falling open a little. I don't know what this says about me, or my life, but this is the greatest gift I have ever received.

"Of course I did." he says firmly; like my reaction is ridiculous.

"Kurt, I don't know what to say." I offer then, touching the cold metal that lies under my fingertips. Gasping softly as it cools my skin.

"Just tell me that you think it's a good idea?" he asks uncertainly and I look up at him. I see the worry start to spread across his features. His eyebrows falling as his eyes change and his lips part.

"Yes, Kurt.. I just.. _thank you._" I respond sincerely and I can feel my heart start to swell as he smiles at me.

"You're very welcome, as always." he replies, laying a hand over mine, "Now hopefully you can fall asleep a bit easier." He whispers like he's telling me a secret.

"Wait-" I say suddenly as a realisation dawns on me. Kurt pulls his hand away then, as if he's not sure if he caused my reaction or not.

"What?" Kurt says then and a frown pulls fretfully at the corners of his mouth.

"Kurt- maybe you shouldn't. I mean, what if I freak out and you're locked down here with me?" I say seriously, my voice low and firm, but he just shakes his head.

"Look, Blaine, I understand that you're worried about that, I do, but I trust you, okay? You need to trust _yourself_ more. We made your father go away last night and we can do it again. I know we can." He promises and I nod uncertainly. I'm not entirely convinced.

"My dad thinks this is a great idea, Blaine. He even gave me the address of the store. He thinks most of my ideas are bat shit.. so that's is a _really_ good sign and you know how much he cares about you." he informs and at the mention of Burt I look up. I stare at him for a while then, trying to decide what the best thing to do is and then I say, "Okay, but only if you're sure, Kurt." He smiles.

"I am." he says and then he looks at the notebook on my legs, tilting his head at it, "What is that? You don't have to tell me, obviously, but if you want to you can."

I smile at him then because out of everyone, Kurt is the only person I'd be one hundred percent comfortable with seeing this. I close the notebook and hand it over to him without reservation. I take a deep breath; I start explaining. 

o~o~o

I wake up to the familiar aroma of Kurt's pancakes and for the first time in a long time my head feels almost perfectly clear. I feel suspiciously okay, my head isn't pounding, my cheeks aren't damp and my back isn't aching from sleeping awkwardly on the bathroom floor. It hits me then, the realisation that I've slept the whole night through. I didn't wake up terrified, not once, and I know on some level that that's not because of the lock that Kurt and Finn fixed on the door before I fell asleep. I know that it's because every time I did wake up my hand was held tightly in Kurt's.

My stomach growls then and I carefully pull the covers away from my body, throwing my legs over the edge of the bed and stretching my arms upwards as my feet hit the ground. The floor is so cold today, I shudder from the sensation and pull myself upright. It's time to start the day.

I shuffle into Kurt's bathroom then, still under the powerful influence of sleep, and I tidy myself up a bit. I run one of Kurt's combs through my hair but it does little to tame my curls. By the time I've brushed my teeth and washed my face my stomach starts to rumble again and the scents that are wafting down the stairs are making my mouth water. It smells heavenly. I can't wait to get up the stairs. Today is going to be a good day, I can feel it.

When I reach the kitchen, I stride inside, expecting to see Kurt hard at work, slaving over the stove, adding all of those secret ingredients to the mix with his usual flare. I expect to see him standing there casually with one hand on his hip as the cooks his pancakes to their usual perfection but that's not what I see, not at all. Not even close. What I actually see is the back of a mohawk.

I see _Puck_.

He definitely wasn't here when I went to sleep and so I instantly start to wonder if he came here late last night or early this morning because it's barely five minutes past seven. That's early by anybody's standards.

"Puck?" I say eventually and he jumps before he turns to look at me, a soft smile playing on his lips. He looks so tired but otherwise he looks like his usual self.

"Breakfast?" he asks, raising an eyebrow slightly, and I nod.

"I didn't know you could cook, Puckerman." I tease lightly and he laughs.

"I'm just watching them for your boyfriend." Puck says, mock kissing the air, teasing me right back, I pull my best unimpressed face.

"Where is Kurt?" I ask then as he turns his attention back to the food.

"He's in the living room, he's arguing with Mr. H." Puck informs, before he seems to freeze, looking back over his shoulder at me briefly, I frown and my heart starts to sink. They can't be arguing, they're too perfect for that. They weren't ever supposed to fight.

My heart starts to race.

"They're fighting?" I ask quietly then and Puck shakes his head in concern. Moving the pan away from the heat and then completely abandoning it. He walks towards me then, putting a soft hand on my arm. I almost whimper.

"No. Blaine, don't worry about this, okay? It's just Princess being Princess." He reassures but that doesn't stop my insides from squirming.

"But Puck-" I start and he moves his hand to my shoulder, he catches my gaze then and his eyes are full of worry.

"I know, okay? This isn't _that_ kind of fighting, Blaine. It's not even _fighting_ it's just Kurt disagreeing with his dad. It wont end badly." He promises as if he can read my mind.

"You can't know that." I whisper quietly and I look towards the living room in horror as the muffled shouting gets louder.

"I _do_ know that." he says firmly, "They love each other. That's something we never had in our situations, Blaine, so it's hard for us to see the difference sometimes but it's there." He explains and I want to believe him, I do, but I feel like my world is slowly collapsing around me.

"What if-" I start and he shakes his head firmly, his brows furrowed.

"No what if's, okay? This used to freak me out too, when Finn and his mom fought about things, but it's not the same as what you went through or what I went through. It's so _far_ away from being to the same, Blaine. No one's getting hurt here, they're literally just talking loudly." Puck smiles but I don't smile back, I feel like my confidence is draining away. Today isn't going to be a good day, not at all. I feel stupid again. Darkness floods my insides.

"What is it about?" I mutter eventually and Puck squeezes my shoulder.

"Just school. Kurt doesn't want to go in today but Mr. H is saying he's going anyway. You know what Kurt's like sometimes, Blaine, he says what he thinks and he's stubborn about it."

"Why wouldn't he go to -" I start but I'm cut off when the living room door bursts open, crashing into the wall and Kurt bursts out, his face red with anger.

"You can't make me go, dad!" Kurt says as he storms down the hallway, his hands raised high.

"Oh, you think so? We'll see about that!" Burt shouts, following his son out of the living room.

"I'd like to see you try!" Kurt shouts and I flinch. He's provoking him, I feel incredibly nervous. Puck reaches down and holds my hand.

"Oh, you're going!" Burt shouts and as he takes a step towards Kurt I take a step backwards. I shake my head and close my eyes but suddenly Puck is in front of me and his hands are curled gently around my arms.

"Blaine?" He whispers quickly as I hear a gasp in the distance. I'm not sure that I like the sound of it but no one is shouting, not anymore, and I do like that.

"Blaine? Are you okay?" Kurt asks urgently then and somehow he's right next to me.

"_No._" I say honestly, opening my eyes briefly, "You're fighting." I say and Kurt shakes his head.

I close my eyes again the and cling to Puck's hand. I feel so stupid.

"Blaine, look at me, please?" Kurt asks in a whisper and eventually I do, "Do you trust me?"

"I- of course I do, Kurt." I reply in one long, quiet breath and he nods.

"Then I promise you: we're not fighting." he says before he looks back at his dad. Burt looks absolutely pained.

Burt moves forwards then, emotion swimming in his eyes, and places a hand on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt doesn't see it coming but he doesn't flinch either. He just reaches his hand up towards his own shoulder and touches Burt's fingers. Burt smiles regretfully then and presses a quick kiss into Kurt's hair.

"I just didn't want to leave you here." Kurt confesses suddenly and I bite my lip. It's hard not to blame myself when I'm armed with that kind of knowledge.

"Kurt," Burt starts then, "You need to go to school, son. Blaine will be fine, I'm two minutes away and Puck's here all day because he's been suspended … again." I look at Puck then and he shrugs, our hands jumping upwards together, "He had it coming, Mr. H."

Burt just smiles at him fondly.

"My point is, Kurt, Blaine's not alone and we're gonna have to find him a new school to go to soon anyway. I'd hate for anyone of you boys to fall behind, you're all far too smart for bad grades." Burt explains and eventually Kurt nods in agreement.

"I just wish you were coming, Blaine." Kurt says sadly and I nod.

"You can't pass up a school like Dalton, Kurt." I try and he sighs.

"I know. It's just going to be really weird without you there." he confesses.

"It's going to be really weird not going there." I concur and Burt smiles gently at us.

"You should go and get into your uniform." Burt says then and Kurt frowns once more before he walks up to me and gives me a quick hug. He smiles at Puck then and turns himself around, heading to his room.

"Are you okay, kid?" Burt asks then and I nod once.

"Yeah, I guess. Shouting just makes me worry." I say and he frowns.

"I'm sorry if I upset you, son." Burt promises and I smile, "I'm okay now."

"Good. Come here." Burt says then, opening his arms, I let go of Puck's hand then and walk straight to him, letting him wrap his strong, comforting arms around me.

It's takes less than ten seconds for Puck to walk over and wrap his arms around me too. His warm body pressed into my back.

"We're gonna have fun today, you'll see." Puck whispers cheerily into the shell of my ear and I can't help but smile because, out of everyone, Puck's the one who understands this from my point of view. 

o~o~o


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17.

* * *

><p>o~o~o<p>

It's cold outside- the unsympathetic air biting at my cheeks, stinging my neck, burning my hands- and almost as soon as I put a foot over the threshold, a shiver bursts through me. My shoulders shuddering automatically as the sensation shoots up my spine- bitter and unexpected - my neck rolling roughly with the feeling, like I'm trying to force it out of my body with jittering spasms. As it passes and my skin is left tingling, I somewhat instinctively wrap one of my arms across my body, hoping to keep some of my warmth alight inside of me, using my other hand to pull the front door closed quickly, the thud of the wood resounding throughout the hushed, windswept street and making me flinch.

It's still quite early in the morning but it's late enough for everyone to be either at work or school. Except for the people like Puck and I, that is- the people who can't physically drag themselves to school today because they don't have a place there; for whatever reason. Maybe they literally don't have a school to attend, like me, maybe they've just been kicked out by their principal for fighting, like Puck, maybe they're too busy hiding an ugly black-and-blue family secret from the world, like Puck and I both have. And I remember what _that_ was like, staring at myself in the mirror in the morning; having to make the decision to stay in that house all day. Knowing that staying there meant that I was practical handing myself over to him, knowing that I couldn't leave just in case someone saw. In case someone found out. I thought I was in control but I was _never_in control. I can see that now. I can see almost everything, the way he would…

I close my eyes tightly for a second.

_No. _

I open my eyes and I ram those thoughts clean out of my head. All of my bruises have faded now. That isn't my life anymore. It's not even close. What I have now is so damn _pure _compared to what I used to call my life. I push my smarting hands into my pockets, hoping to distract myself because since this morning I'm feeling overemotional, the coarse denim of my jeans scraping cruelly against my skin before eventually it allows my hands some respite- a shelter from the bitter breeze that whooshes continuously around us.

I look over at Puck then but he doesn't look anywhere _near_as cold as I feel and I wonder if that's because, in general, my circulatory system has never been particularly good, I mean, Puck's not even shivering. He's not hunching his shoulders like I am either, in a desperate attempt to hide the last exposed parts of my neck from the inconsiderate wind. It just keeps cutting into me and when another shudder courses through me Puck smiles. Sincerity shining brightly in his eyes as he laughs to himself, quietly.

By the time we're out of the driveway and pounding the concrete, our feet rising and falling in unison, and heading in the general direction of the mall, the wind is slowly softening. We're barely at the end of the street when Puck leans towards me and bumps his shoulder into mine playfully. My arms shoot out from around my waist, to restore my balance and the wind abuses the perfect opportunity to hit me again. Puck grins as I shiver once more and I grit my teeth when the familiar chilled, stinging sensation passes through me. I push my hands back in my pockets. I'm torn between sitting down on the floor and curling into a ball, hoping the wind will just pass right over me, and pushing him back on the shoulder playfully. I don't get the chance to do anything, though, because before I _can_do anything Puck does something that I truly don't expect- he moves his arm effortlessly in my direction and links it through mine. The crooks of our elbows pressed together. My body tenses. I can't stop it, especially not in this weather when my body is already so rigid. I cringe because there's no way Puck didn't feel that.

Noah Puckerman has _never_ been afraid to touch me, that should be made very, very clear, right now, because he has _never_ been shy in reaching out a comforting hand or offering me a warm hug but somehow, some part of me, had honestly thought that it wouldn't translate to the outside world. Puck has a reputation. Reputations take work. Puck commands _respect_and there's a part of my brain that wants to pull my arm away from his, like it hurts, because I'm just some stupid, needy, gay kid with too many problems and too many issues and I'm not worth losing respect over but I don't. I don't do anything. My arm twitches though, and that's enough, because Puck just draws himself impossibly closer to me. If I wasn't paying quite so much attention to the falling of our feet our thighs would be meeting occasionally and I just can't have that.

"Are you okay?" Puck asks quietly, like he knows what I'm doing, like he can see how much concentration it's taking for me to keep our bodies from meeting much more than they already are. One of his eyebrows raises slightly when I glance at him. It messes up my rhythm and our legs crash into one another, I pull back and decide to focus on the floor. He's holding onto my arm so tightly. I can feel the anxiety, however misplaced, soaring through my chest. He seems to notice too, of course he does, I think, because my breathing is speeding up way too much and it's so cold out here that he can physically see the air leaving my body, "Hey," he says then, slowing our pace down a little, "What's going on?"

"Puck," I whisper lowly, my lungs burning, "People can see us out here." I mutter obviously.

He stops us both dead.

"_What_?" he asks then, his voice both disbelieving and confused, as he pull his arm away from mine, slowly. I almost cringe at the loss and I'm about to frown when I catch myself and put a stop to it. Isn't that exactly what I just wanted him to do? I wanted him to stop touching me, didn't I? That's what I told myself, at least, for his sake; for his reputation. Puck shouldn't even be seen with someone like me. If someone from his school sees us they'll use it against him. That's what they're like at McKinley, Kurt's told me how the popular kids can turn on each other just as quickly as the turn on the more permanent social pariahs.

I'm about to keep on walking, in fact, I've almost raised a full foot off the ground, when Puck grabs at one of my hands. His fingers catching mine awkwardly and bending them backwards. I look at him then, confusion undoubtedly written all over my face but that doesn't matter because he looks completely horrified.

"Tell me what that was supposed to mean?" Puck demands quietly, something lingering darkly in the back of his eyes, it's intense but it's nowhere near threatening, "Blaine, just tell me what you meant. _Please_." He repeats, noticeably softer this time.

"You shouldn't walk so close to me." I offer sincerely, almost inaudibly, and he shakes his head.

"Why not?" he says firmly, almost demanding, but then something unfathomable changes in his face and he adds, "Am I.. am I making you feel uncomfortable?"

I don't say anything as his free hand moves to my shoulder, holding my bicep loosely, his face serious, "Blaine, this is important? If I'm upsetting you, you should have stopped me as soon as it started to feel that way for you."

"No, Puck, that's not it." I start before stopping altogether as a woman with a small child walk right past us, their hands clasped firmly together, swinging as they walk. I smile; they look so happy.

"Blaine?" Puck says then and I pull my attention back towards him.

"People might think that you- " is all I get out before he cuts me off.

"What? Blaine, why would I care about what people think about me?" He urges quickly and I can't help but bite my lip. He squeezes my hand and I close my eyes. I need to explain this better.

"You have a reputation, Puck." I start carefully, a little apprehensive about his reaction. Though, I'm not afraid of Puck, I'm _never_afraid of him, "I just don't want anyone to think that.." Puck pulls on my hand a little, the other falling down from my arm to grab the other, like he's trying to make sure I'm looking straight at him for what happens next.

"Say it." he whispers then, like he can read my mind, like he knows exactly where this is going, his brow furrows heavily, "Just say it." He reiterates.

I hold my breath then before I nod my head. Heat surging through me as the words burst out of my mouth. My voice ten times stronger than I expected it to be, the words at least a hundred times more painful than I had ever wished them to sound.

"I just don't want them to think that you're a filthy fucking faggot, Puck, _okay_?" I spit harshly, gritting my teeth before I pull my hands from his firmly and whisper softly, as tears fill my eyes, "I-I don't want them to think you're like me."

Puck tries to reach my hands again then, his face falling, as I stuff them back in my jeans. I feel ashamed and stupid and _disgusting_. I can't look up at him. I feel like I have an aura surrounding me; I feel like it's beaming two different shades of _pathetic_, right at him. My eyes start to sting.

"You can't just say something like that and then completely pull away from me." Puck says quietly, his voice full of conviction, two more people passing us by without so much as a second glance.

Puck continues after a pause, when he's sure that the strangers are out of earshot, "Blaine, you _don't_ get to say that about yourself. _Ever._Do you understand what I'm saying to you right now?" he asks but the power isn't quite there anymore. His voice is too low and it wavers far too much towards the end. He reaches out and touches one of my elbows. His fingers are so gentle.

"My father, he said that I-" I whisper in beginning, before I cut myself off completely, pulling a swift hand out of my pocket and bringing it to my face. My fingers rest lightly on my forehead, half-shielding me from Puck's eyes, as I struggle to fight the memories off- those bitter, emotionally confusing images and those dreadful sounds that my father's mocking voice would make, all of it, racing through my mind so quickly that it literally blurs. I wish that Kurt was here, more than anything, I wish that he was with me. I _need_to hear his voice, I need to hear him singing to me. I pinch my fingers together at the bridge of my nose, in one last effort to stop myself from crying. It doesn't work particularly well, and my vision starts to blur. Those familiar, watery storms brewing heartlessly between my eyelids.

"Those things that your father said, Blaine, they're not true." Puck promises quietly, "There's _nothing_ wrong with you and you know that deep inside yourself. I know you do. That's not you talking, that's your father talking and he's wrong. He was _always_wrong." Puck reasons firmly and when I look up at him, his eyes are staring into my damp ones absolutely faultlessly, emitting a powerful sense of unwavering determination and unquestionable commitment.

"You don't _know_ that. You weren't _there_." I whisper finally, desperately, as tears spill over and run down my face. Puck steps forward then, laying his hands flatly on my shoulders before he adjusts them so that his fingers are on either side of my neck. They're so tender, so caring, that I'm not afraid of him- even though I though that _anyone_ touching my neck would remind me of being strangled. _It doesn't._ Puck's cool fingers rub soothing circles into my neck and he makes me feel so at ease, so safe, that I start to cry harder. I'm just so _overwhelmed_. I have so many emotions and all of them are so huge. I feel like my heart is going to explode.

"Blaine, I _know_ because you care about Kurt… and you'd never think he was 'filthy' or 'disgusting' for falling in love with other boys, would you? And you'd definitely never, _ever_, call him a faggot. Blaine. I don't know what your father said to you.. or what he did to you.. but I would bet on my _life_ that every time he called you a faggot you stood up for _yourself _and you stood up for _Kurt_." Puck says passionately and I look up at him then through my teary eyes, his giving face is so close to mine, it's true, what he said, I fought him for Kurt, but I don't know how he knows that because nobody knows that… except for me; except for my father.

"I- I did stand up for Kurt and f-for myself." I stumble uselessly and he nods once.

"I told you so." he smiles softly then and for some reason that sends pain straight to my heart, "You were so brave, Blaine." he whispers and the emotion is smothering me.

"Puck? I-I don't know what's happening to me." I say honestly, and his brow creases, my bottom lip starts to tremble violently and a whimper sneaks past my lips. Puck flinches.

"Shhh. Please, don't get so upset. You're just trying to be okay and there's nothing wrong with that. I know how confused you probably feel but you're just testing the things he said to you. You're just trying to validate what he said in your head. It's a completely normal reaction to what you went through." Puck promises earnestly, moving his hands so that his thumbs wipe most of my tears away before he continues.

"You're doing this with me because you trust me and I'm so grateful that. I know what's happening in your head right now because I did the same thing with Finn. I've been _exactly_ where you are, Blaine. You're just trying to find the evidence to prove that he was wrong.. and that's okay because he _was_ wrong, Blaine, and I can tell you that all day if you need me to. I can tell you that _forever_." Puck pledges as he wraps his steady arms around me, his warm body pressing against my cold form. I cling to him.

"I'm so sorry." I sob against his chest and I can feel him shaking his head. He sways us softly.

"Don't be sorry. I don't want to sound like a robotic cliché here but you really are perfect the way you are, Blaine. Being gay doesn't make you less of a man, less of a human, less of an _anything_. Being scared sometimes isn't shameful, it just proves that you _feel_ with your whole heart and your heart is fucking _golden_, Blaine. You're such a beautiful person. And it's always alright to cry.. because that tells you that you're still _alive_; that you're still _fighting_ and I'm so fucking _proud_ of you for that. You're so much stronger than you think you are. You think you're this weak boy who's dragging everyone down with him but you're_ not._ You're a teenager who's trying, so hard, to reclaim himself and his life after it's been taken away from him for most of his life. _Fuck it._I'm going to keep telling you this, until you believe me; I don't even care if I sound like a soap opera or a broken record." He presses a gentle kiss on top of my head then.

"Puck-" I whisper as I pull back from him, "We should keep walking, it's cold."

"Okay." he says and when he pulls away from me he links his arm back through mine and we start walking again. The crooks of our elbows pressed together once more. The warmth of his body reminding me that I can feel and that I'm alive. Our thighs brush together occasionally but I don't mind, not anymore, because Puck doesn't care at all.

o~o~o

We're sitting comfortably in a overly bright café, which has far too many shades of yellow painted on the walls for my liking, drinking tall mugs of deliciously warm hot chocolate, when Puck takes a long, indulgent sip of his drink and says, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "So, you and my boy Kurt, huh, what's with that, dude?"

I think about it for a while- taking in both Puck's curious question and the ambience of the establishment - we haven't been seated here for more than five minutes. I watch as Puck takes another sip of his drink, his dark eyelashes fluttering as his throat gulps rhythmically. Then he uses the back of his hand to wipe at his mouth as he asks, "Well?"

"I don't know." I say honesty, stirring my drink in one, swooping clockwise motion before laying the spoon back on the saucer. A tiny clank echoing around us. It's busy in the mall today, despite it still being early and a week day, and nobody seems to notice the noise I'm making. And I'm glad that we seem to blend in somewhat perfectly because I'm sure my eyes must still be red from crying.

"You do like him, though, right?" Puck asks eventually and I nod, of course I like him, he's _Kurt Hummel. _

He waits for me to speak.

"He's just so-" I start pointlessly, trying to explain myself, but I don't know how to finish that sentence because what is Kurt? What is he really? Amazing. Talented. Beautiful. All of that. I think so.

"Hot?" Puck offers at last and I raise an eyebrow before I correct him, "_Perfect._"

"Are you ever going to tell him?" Puck asks lightly then, he's obviously interested but he's not prying, I shrug.

"I can't tell him." I mumble and Puck frowns a little, his eyes creasing at the corners.

"Why not? You don't have to tell him right now but you should tell him eventually." Puck suggests, raising his drink to his lips again. I wait until he has a mouthful of liquid before I speak again.

"He might not feel the same way about me." I share then because, ultimately, that's one of my biggest fears. I fear that I'll say something to Kurt, confess something big, that he doesn't quite share for me, and then I'd have damaged the perfection that we already have.

"Oh, he does feel the same." Puck says instantly, a knowing look fleeting over his face.

"He's never told you that, Puck, no way." I say because I can't see Kurt doing that and Puck just shrugs.

"Maybe not in so many words, but the fact that every time you're around his whole world lights up… that tells me _everything_." Puck say playfully, his hands wrapped around his mug.

"I'm so complicated, Puck." I offer eventually, apologetically, staring fruitlessly at the patterns on the tiled floor.

"Kurt comes with thirty different face creams, _that's_complicated." Puck snorts then and I smile too.

"Hey, he likes to look after himself, that's not a crime." I laugh in Kurt's defence and Puck looks at me as if to say: _If you say so._

"Neither is telling him how you really feel." that's what he actually says.

"I don't know exactly how Kurt makes me feel." I confess, more to myself than to the curious boy opposite me.

"I think he makes your heart skip it's beats. I think he makes you smile without trying. I think you look at him sometimes and you just turn to goo." he offers and he's not mocking me now, he's being very serious. His fingers ghosting over the wood of the table.

"Puck.." I start.

"I know he's your best friend, Blaine; I know you don't want to damage that but sometimes you just have to take a chance. I think he'd have taken a chance on you if he thought you were okay enough to handle it. I think he's just waiting… so he doesn't feel like he's taking advantage of your situation."

"I don't know, Puck." I say, my uncertainty very poorly masked.

I cringe.

"And that's totally fine." he says quickly, "_You _have to come first, Blaine, because you have a lot of stuff going on right now. Though, as soon as you feel able to.. you should tell him exactly how you feel. Maybe you _do_ only see him as a best friend, maybe you see him as much more… but there's not a single doubt in my mind that he's there for you _no matter what._ The love between you both, whatever that is, it's _solid._" Puck finishes before he freezes, like he thinks he's said too much, a soft blush ghosting his cheeks.

I just stare because I _never_thought I'd see Puck blush.

"Aww, look, you're a big softie under that scowl, Puckerman." I say teasingly and he glares over at me.

"Keep it under wraps, Anderson." he threatens lightly.

"You're sweet." I push and he cringes. A smile pulling effortlessly at the corners of my mouth; Puck looks increasingly uncomfortable.

"And you're in deep shit if you keep grinning at me like that." Puck frowns before it bleeds into a smile.

"I thought you loved me?" I pout and he rolls his eyes.

"I do." he whispers, "Nowhere near as much as you love Kurt's ass, though." he finishes and I can feel my eyes widen; searching the room quickly to see if anyone is looking in my direction as a warm, heavy blush covers my cheeks. He just laughs.

"Hurry up and finish your drink, Anderson, you and I have a date in the park. It's monkey bar time." Puck smiles and it must be contagious because I laugh right back at him, and I know that I mean it.

o~o~o

"So, how was your day with the elusive Noah?" Kurt asks softly as he drops his heavy looking school bag onto the ground, the flap bursting open, allowing a pile of text books to slide onto the floor. His shoulders sag in response and he sits down on the edge of his bed, his spine bent as he rest his forearms on his thighs, one of his hands trying to scoop down and pick up a book but he misses it completely. He's clearly had a hard day. I shoot him a look of adoration and understanding even though he can't see it because he's too busy staring at the floor.

"We went to the park, which was a lot of fun." I say eventually and Kurt nods, frowning down at the books on the floor, "It's okay, I'll pick those up for you, Kurt." I say then and he turns his head to look at me. A look of absolute gratitude written all over his face. His beautiful eyes not shining quite as bright as they usually do, he just stares at me, my heart starts to pound.

"Thank you.. I've had such a rough day today. I have so much course work to catch up on, Blaine, and I'm completely exhausted after the drive home. It honestly felt like forever." He finishes and I nod in sympathetic consideration, standing up almost immediately to walk around to where Kurt is sitting. I crouch down on the floor next to him then and start gathering his books, random pieces of paper jutting out everywhere, I just tuck them inside and stack them all in a neat pile. Kurt would be happy with that. I look at him and he smiles softly.

"I could just fall asleep." he whispers next and I nod, watching as his eyelids flutter.

"Lie back on the bed." I say then and he raises an eyebrow in my direction- but he can't hold it there for long- before a yawn bursts out of him.

"Please, Kurt." I ask again and he does it this time. I'm not sure he has the energy to protest my request, though, so he just crawls backwards and lies down, flat on his back. His arms falling to his sides. His face relaxing as his head sinks into his pillow.

"I'm going to take your shoes off and give you a foot massage." I promise and he moans, his feet arching instinctively in his shoes. I know for a fact that Kurt likes foot massages- he goes for one twice a week.

"Blaine, you don't have to do that." he reassures seriously, his voice heavy and low.

"I know… but you've been working hard today and you're really tired and I'm fine… so, I may as well do something nice for you before you fall asleep." I smile, slipping his shoes off his feet and laying them neatly on the floor. Side by side, just like he would.

"Ugh. You're the best friend in the whole universe, Blaine." Kurt smiles then, his eyes closed tightly as I peel his socks off. I smile too but for the first time I'm almost absolutely sure that I wish I was more than his best friend. Even more than his best friend in the _whole universe._

That huge part of me that's capable of love- it loves Kurt.

o~o~o

The rest of the week passes by in a hasty blur of conversations about school transfers, homework, self confidence and musicals. Before I know it, it's Friday night and the clock on the bedside table is telling me that it's almost midnight. We've been in bed for two hours and Kurt is fast asleep, his soft breath filling the darkness around us, but I'm wide awake because my throat is insufferably dry and scratchy and the water I have just isn't helping, at all. I need to make a cup of that special-blend lemon and honey tea, the one that Kurt is so fond of. I move the covers off my body and head for the stairs, bumping my toes into sofas and tables and unidentified objects as I make my way across the room.

I tiptoe up the stairs, keeping my bare feet soft in their fall, reaching out a hand when I'm at the top; running my fingertips across the wood until I meet the metal of the lock. I flick it open. A soft click resounding through the darkness. Almost instantly a sleepy voice says, "Blaine?"

I can't help but smile a little.

"It's alright." I whisper back into the darkness, my body turned awkwardly on the stairs, hoping my voice carries to him, finds him somewhere in the darkness and lets him know that nothing is going on. Somehow, Kurt manages to wake himself up every time the lock clicks. I don't know how he does it, but it happens. It's even more confusing because sometimes he can be so deep in sleep that I think an earthquake wouldn't rouse him but that tiny click, it just wakes him, every single time.

I stand silently in the dark then, listening to the soft rustling of sheet before Kurt says more purposefully, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Kurt." I say softly and silence falls around us.

"What are you doing?" he asks then.

"I'm just going to make some tea, my throat hurts." I offer and I hear him lie back down on the bed- the sound of a body settling back into the sheets.

"Okay, I'll wait for you to come back." Kurt says then and I smile as I pull the door open, the soft lamp light drifting momentarily into Kurt's room. I step into it, pulling his door closed, before I straighten my t-shirt, run a hand through my messy curls, and head for the kitchen.

I flick the light on and the instant shock of the brightness burns my eyes, dazzling me until I shield my eyes with a hand and shuffle swiftly to the kettle. I wait for my eyes to adjust before I flick it on, I'm still squinting but I'm not blinded by it anymore. I lean against the counter, my arms flat against the cold marble and I drift in and out of sleep as I listen to the kettle boiling away. The sound of the bubbling water filling my ears and soothing me as well as any lullaby. My head lolling forward until I hear the final click that tells me the water is boiled and that prompts me into searching for a cup.

I set the cup down but before I have time to add a teabag a loud bangs startles me. My heart automatically racing as my knees knock and my hands tremble, rattling the cup as my fingers brush past it. I start to freak out because it's late and I don't know what's going on and I feel far too disorientated for this.

I hear two voices then, voices that are trying to be quiet but completely failing, as the front door slams heavily, my eyes fluttering in shock as uncoordinated weighty feet head towards me, the sound of bodies crashing into the walls filling my ears. I take a step backwards. Watching the door in confusion as two people burst into the kitchen. I gasp.

Two sets of eyes stare back at me.

"Blaine?" Puck says quickly, a hint of confusion in his voice, he didn't expect anyone to be awake. He didn't expect anyone to see him practically carrying Finn into the house. The taller boy leaning on Puck for support, swaying into his friend, his hands falling all over him. I don't know what's going on but as soon as I meet Finn's eyes, I see it. Finn is drunk, in fact, Finn is completely _hammered._He instinctively tries to step forward and reach out to me in some misguided greeting but Puck tightens his grip on his friends waist, as he looks between Finn and I. He's trying to read this, he's trying to read me, he's trying to figure out what to do.

"Do you want me to back us up, so you can get past us?" Puck asks seriously because he understands me, he understand how this is slightly.. what was that word Ellen used this week? Triggering? Yes, that's what she said. She said that sometimes certain things, certain actions will remind me of the things I'd rather forget.

"N-no. It's okay." I say decisively, after a pause, because it's Finn. He may be the first drunk person I've been in contact with since I left my father but it's going to be okay because it's _Finn Hudson_ and this week he even told me that I mattered to him. This is a chance for me to overcome my problem. I _can_do this. I need to do this. For me. I just have to work through it, this could be a huge leap in my progress. Puck is here too, so, I'll be fine, won't I?

"Okay." Puck says eventually, walking Finn further into the kitchen and throwing him onto a chair; he's not exactly gentle. Then Puck moves to stand behind his friend, looping his arms under Finn's and shifting him, with a lot of effort, so that he's not hanging off the edge quite as much. It's obvious that Puck has been in this position before.

"I tell him not to do this but he always goes way over his limits. _Every single time._" Puck says, the disappointment heavy in his voice. They were both at a party tonight, a McKinley football team party, I can't even pretend I'm jealous. It sounds completely awful, a squad of sweaty jocks guzzling beer and objectifying women, I could live without that. I would have lasted two minutes there before I'd have walked out of the door, got into a car and gone home. A thought strikes me then.

"Puck, did you drive home?" I ask quietly, glancing at the clock, it's ten past midnight, worry starts to settle in my chest because it's so dark outside and there's _clearly_alcohol involved here. I look at Finn then and I think my heart stops beating as I wait for an answer.

"Yeah." Puck says eventually and my face falls, he notices, he has to, because he instantly starts reassuring me, his hands on Finn's shoulders, "I didn't drink and drive, Blaine. I didn't. I don't drink, _at all_. I've seen what alcohol can do to people; I'm not becoming that person. I'm not." Puck finishes with determination; a part of me wondering if he's talking about his father now because I'm, personally, one hundred percent certain that I'm _never _going to drink alcohol for that exact reason.

We don't speak for a while. All of us just existing in our positions.

"Could you get me a glass of water?" Puck says first, a hint of embarrassment in his voice, "I'd do it myself but I'm not convinced he's gonna stay totally upright if I move. He needs fluids." And as if to prove his point, he takes his hands off Finn's shoulders and the tall boy instantly leans over, Puck's quick hand the only thing stopping him from falling straight off the chair.

"S-sure." I nod as I walk to the sink, turning the faucet on and filling a glass quickly, I'm not entirely comfortable with Finn being behind me, not in his current state, and I hadn't expected that. I turn around and walk towards them both. Puck smiling in thanks as I put the glass on the table in front of Finn.

It's then that it happens.

Finn's hand darts out and before Puck even has a chance to move, let alone do something to stop it, Finn's fingers are wrapped tightly around my wrist. A whimper bursting past my lips. Though, that only seems to make things much worse because Finn squeezes until it burns. I wasn't ready for this. My face scrunches up in a mixture of pain and dread.

"_Finn_." Puck says firmly then, his warning tone unmistakable, his eyes darkening as I try to tug away from the grip that holds me where I stand and fail.

"Please, don't.." I mutter quietly but that doesn't seem to help either because Finn just pulls me towards him, forcing me a step closer. I can hear my heart beating now.

"Finn! Let him go, right now." Puck tries again, his eyes wide when he looks over at me apologetically. Finn just squeezes again, oblivious to the damage he's causing me.

Puck watches me fall apart.

"Please, please, please, _please_.." I repeat and I'm starting to get upset now, hot emotion surging through my chest as tears prickle in my eyes. I can't do this. I need him to let go. I need this to stop. No one ever _stops._

"Finn! You're hurting him!" Puck all but growls and my vision starts to blur. The air increasingly hot and heavy as I forcibly drag it down into my shuddering lungs. Gasping for breath. I give my arm one last tug, in the hope of escape, and then it's all over because I can hear my father's footsteps pounding down the hallway. I can smell the unforgettable stench of cigars and alcohol and urine. I automatically gag and my shoulders sag forward.

I can vaguely feel another hand touching my wrist and pulling but it's not enough. It's not enough to stop my father staggering into the kitchen, his creased off-white shirt caked in his own vomit. I stumble backwards, a loud crash echoing around me as my father grabs my shirt and pushes me harshly against the counter- wincing as my back collides with the hard surface.

"Please, don't hurt me.. you're not supposed to be here..." I whisper hopefully but he just laughs bitterly, sniggering as he brings his face much closer to mine. My eyes closing tightly as his breath ghosts over my face, "Well, I am here, _faggot_."

Tears slip down my cheeks then, my arms reaching out uselessly as I try and protect myself, as he moves a hand to my neck, his fingers wrapping around it painfully slow. He's not pressing, he's waiting, he's mocking me, he's letting me cry as he humiliates me. He's thriving off the anticipation of his inevitable actions. He's enjoying this. I feel sick. My insides squirm.

"_Don't_." I whimper again, the fear of what's coming now just a painful as the bruises he's given me in the past.

"You don't get to talk to me like that you stupid shit!" he snarls as he brings his other hand up, curling a fist. I flinch and slam my eyes shut.

"Blaine!" An upset voice calls then but I'm too scared to open my eyes, I'm too afraid to see who it is, because my father is about to plunge his fist into my face. A deep sob escapes my body then. As I wait to be struck. I'm terrified, in fact, I'm absolutely devastated.

"Blaine, please, come on, it's me. It's Kurt. Blaine, _please_?" My heart pounds and I don't know what to do because I can still smell my father but Kurt is demanding my attention. _Kurt_. Kurt is here. I start to panic. I can't let him hurt Kurt. I force my eyes open then and when I do there's nothing there. Nothing but Kurt's horrified face.

"_Kurt_-" I whisper as I start to cry anew, Kurt moves forward quickly to wrap his warm arms around me. As soon as he's holding me I fist his shirt, my face pressed firmly into his shoulder as sobs start to shake my body.

"It's okay, Blaine, everyone's okay." Kurt whispers in reassurance, one of his hands moving to cup the back of my head and his touch is so gentle, so soft, that my chest starts to ache.

"Shhh." he says as my shoulders start to bounce, the sound of my crying echoing all around us, I thought he was gone for real this time. I thought I was getting better. I thought I could be okay. I was wrong. I was so _wrong_. I feel like everything I've been working on is ruined. I feel like I've failed. I feel like I've let them down, that I've let myself down.

"He's not here now. I've got you." Kurt whispers sincerely into my ear, his voice wavering slightly, like he's trying to be brave for me, "I love you." he finishes and that just makes me grip him harder. I can feel his heart beating.

"I love you too." I mutter into the material of his shirt.

Eventually, Kurt walks me back to his room. A firm, supportive hand wrapped around my waist. I don't know where Puck and Finn are but I don't see them anywhere. Kurt opens the door, flicks the light on, walks me down to the bed and tucks me in comfortably before he leans down and places a soft kiss on my forehead.

"Do you still want your tea?" Kurt asks quietly and I shake my head. My throat feels fine now. Kurt just nods, before turning around and walking away from me.

"Kurt?" I whisper and he stops.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart." he reassures and I just watch as he walks up the stairs and clicks the lock on the door shut. Relief suddenly washing over me. We're okay now. Nothing can touch us, not now. Not here, not when we're like this.

Kurt walks back towards his bed then, tiredness evident on his face. He turns the light off and stumbles back into bed. Making himself comfortable and then, finally, sliding his hand under the covers until he finds mine. Our hands intertwine. Kurt doesn't say anything and he doesn't need to because his actions always tell me absolutely _everything._Above all, they tell me that I'm not alone, that I'm loved, that I'm home and that he isn't going anywhere. Not ever.

o~o~o


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

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><p>o~o~o<p>

I wake up feeling utterly pathetic, my face pushed firmly into a pillow that smells a lot like Kurt- it's not the scent of his cologne, though, it's just _him,_ the way he smells after he's been in the shower- and that should be enough to put a smile on my stupid face, I know it should be, but there's an overriding empty, burning sensation simmering slowly inside my chest that wont permit me even the tiniest of smiles. I groan and close my eyes then, pressing my face forward, half hoping that the finest pure-cotton fabric of Kurt's pillowcase will be enough to smother me, because today already feels like a very bad day and I can't quite shake the feeling that I've ruined absolutely _everything_- all the hard work I've been putting in, every second of every day, means nothing now- it's gone. After last night- after Finn grabbed my wrist and I completely freaked out in front of everyone- I don't know how I can pull myself out of this bed and up those stairs to face those same people. I wont be able to look any of them in the eye because, really, how pathetic is that? My best friend's step-brother touched me, in a way I didn't like, and I completely _lost_ it.

A fresh bouquet of shame blooms in my chest then and it's decided, I'm staying here all day. I don't care that it's Saturday and that Kurt and I are supposed to be going shopping. I don't care that breakfast smells delicious and my stomach is rumbling, no, I'm staying right here because, while I can't go up there and pretend I'm feeling okay, I can't go up there and start crying either. I just can't. I've cried far too many times. So, I'll just stay down here, with my face pressed vehemently into the material of Kurt's pillowcases, the ones that smell exactly like him, until I fall asleep again and I'm carried away in the comforting arms of Morpheus.

Sleep doesn't scare me anymore, I'm not terrified of what I might find in my dreams or in the darkness that surrounds me when I wake, not since Kurt presented me with the lock he bought for his door. Our door. Guilt shoots through me again then because Kurt's always trying so hard to help me in a way that I need him to and me, well, I'm just lying down here, like this, with no intention of talking to anyone all day, which isn't exactly a great way to say: _Thank you for not giving up on me, Kurt._ I cringe then and moan into the pillowcase once more- the decidedly hoarse sound cut off by the soft fabric that my face is plunged in, well, for the most part, at least. The sound still rattles inside my head, making me groan.

"Wow. I don't know what to think about all of this moaning and groaning you're doing, Blaine." An amused, though thoroughly familiar, voice says from behind me somewhere and suddenly my eyes shoot open. I completely freeze. There's someone else here. I want to groan again but I fight off the urge, for the sake of productivity if nothing else, and I look behind myself quickly. He's smiling fondly at me, an eyebrow arched, and really I'm just glad that _someone_ is happy.

"Kurt." I start desperately, a flush blossoming on my cheeks, as I try to spin myself around under the covers to look at him properly, my legs getting tangled in the sheets, "I didn't know you were still down here." I offer weakly, shifting so that I'm sitting upright, and his smile softens. Those memorable eyes shining ever so brightly at me.

"I should hope not, I've been as quiet as a mute child, Blaine, scurrying around, tidying bits here and there on my tiptoes." He offers playfully, his hands falling to his hips and I can't help myself then, the tiniest of smiles ghosts over my lips. It probably doesn't look that genuine to Kurt but it is, it really_ is, _and I didn't expect to smile today, I honestly didn't. Kurt, he blows my mind sometimes and he moves me every single day.

"Are you okay?" he asks then, his head tilting a little, undoubtedly taking in my face, the mess of my curls, the unconvincing smile.

"Yeah, I think so?" I offer eventually but it's more of a question than a statement and that's not what he was looking for. It doesn't even convince _me._

"As much as your groaning and moaning was making my smile, Blaine, those weren't happy groans. Only _happy_ groans are allowed in here." He says searchingly then and I can tell he's trying so hard to keep us both on the right side of okay, I have to look away as shame washes over me again.

Less than twenty seconds later the mattress dips beside me.

"Don't worry about last night." Kurt says softly, but undeniably firmly, he's being very assertive again, of course he is, he's _Kurt_. I used to do this for him, I used to be the confident one, and I wonder now if this is how he felt accepting my help. I wonder if it felt this heavy on his heart, this tiring, this hard. I hope to God it didn't because I care about him so much and this just isn't a good feeling. All I want for Kurt is happiness and acceptance.

"I feel..." I start suddenly, feeling the need to explain myself, the words falling drastically short, as my brain tries to process what it is that I actually feel. It shouldn't be this hard to decipher and recognise my own feelings. I let out a low growl in frustration.

"Hey, no, it's okay." Kurt says then, his hand reaching out without hesitation, laying itself gently on my arm- not seeking the permission he knows I'll always give him. Nothing has ever felt this right, this organic, this pure, "It's okay to feel upset. Remember?"

"I just feel so _embarrassed_, Kurt." I mutter finally then and Kurt nods his head supportively, his fingers moving sporadically on my arm now, like he's playing the piano. His touch shooting bolts of warmth through my body.

"You haven't got a thing to feel embarrassed about, Blaine. Flashbacks take over; you can't always stop them. You know that." Kurt offers rationally and I know that he's right, deep down I _know_. It wasn't my fault, it's _never_ my fault, but I always have such a hard time realising that. Ellen even said the same thing to me, she explained how flashbacks can come even when you feel like you've got a handle on it. They surprise you, they catch you off guard, that's what they do.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt," I say then, "I feel like I'm always bringing you down." I offer quietly, my eyes meeting his for the first time. He just smiles at me then, his entire face nothing but sincere as he says, "Don't apologise, you don't bring me down, Blaine, if anything, you make me _hopeful."_

"Hopeful?" I ask quickly, quietly, because I can't see how I, how _this_, makes anyone feel anywhere near hopeful. I don't see how Kurt can find hope in my weakness. I can't understand how my struggle gives him optimism. I'm not exactly a beacon of light on a darkened shore; I'm not exactly beaming rays of a brighter future.

"Definitely hopeful." he says thoughtfully, his hand still on my arm, "I think about all of the things I see you struggle with everyday. I see you trying not to flinch when a cupboard door closes too loudly, I see you let our family touch you, even when you're having a bad day, I see you laugh at Finn's awful jokes, even when there's sadness in your eyes, I see all of the love you have locked inside of you, waiting to burst out and make world a brighter place, and that just makes me so hopeful. So proud, Blaine. I think to myself 'If Blaine can do this, if he can do everything that he does everyday, then I can do it too.' You seem to think that now I'm helping _you_ out.. you've stopped helping _me _but you're still helping me, Blaine, in so many ways. You're still the source of the courage I have; the courage I only have _because_ of you." He finishes, conviction burning boldly in his eyes. I lean into him. Our shoulders pressing together and I reach out an unsteady hand then, moving it to cover his- the one that lies on my arm- I squeeze his fingers. My brow creasing in admiration, in awe, in gratitude.

"Thank you." I say eventually, trying to process everything Kurt has just shared with me. Trying to process the fact that he just called his family 'our family'; trying to understand the sincerity of his words, the truth in his voice, his utter determination in his eyes to be understood by me.

"That's how I feel about you." he says softly and then we just sit together in silence for a while. The quietness floating around us peacefully. Time slowing; hearts racing. I wonder if Puck was right, I wonder if Kurt likes me.. likes me like _that_. I listen carefully to the steady sound of his breathing then, the soft exchange of air that has often sent me to sleep faster than any lullaby, more efficiently than any story book and much easier than any glass of warm milk I've been given.

"Oh," Kurt says suddenly, cutting through the self-imposed stillness of the room, "While I was cleaning, I found your notebook. The one Ellen gave you. It was under a pile of my textbooks." He offers helpfully and he sounds so content that I automatically try to memorise it- the soft rise and fall of his words as they float around me harmoniously.

"Yeah?" I say, trying not to say too much, trying to keep his voice as pleased as it is. Kurt just nods, I can feel it because his head is resting on my shoulder now, "Yeah. You should write about last night, about what upset you. You can file it away and we'll never let it happen again."

I frown but I nod because he's right. He's always right. I have to do this so I can recognise the problems I have; the problems that my father gave me. Problems that I can overcome, _eventually_, it was never going to happen over night, I'm lucky that it's happening at all. I'm lucky to have so much support because not many people do.

Kurt takes his hand back then and lifts his head, patting my leg gently before he climbs off his bed and walks over to the other side of his room; to a somewhat substantial pile of books. They're all stacked perfectly, I can see that from here- the spines are all facing the same direction, they're in perfect size order. He picks up my notebook triumphantly and brings it back to me- only stopping once and that's to pick up a pen.

"Here." he says, handing them to me before he climbs back on his bed. Straightening his bowtie and pulling at his shirt a little. He looks so beautiful today, like a majestic, fashionable archangel- a thousand bad pick-up lines about 'falling from heaven' immediately racing through my head. I smile to myself and I wait until he's settled himself back down before I open the notebook. Skipping the first five pages- the pages full of my urgent, slanted handwriting- I turn to a blank page and bring the pen down purposefully but it stops dead in my hand before it even touches the paper.

It lingers there, frozen in mid air.

"Do you want me to leave you alone for a while?" Kurt asks then, taking my hesitation as a sign that I might want to be alone for this, but I don't want to be alone. Kurt is the only person in the world I'd trust unconditionally with this notebook. The notebook that chronicles all of my failings and short comings. Kurt would never think any less of me for what I have written down in here and that's why I want him to stay.

"I'm just trying to find the right words, it's hard to organise it in my head sometimes, that's all." I offer and Kurt nods briefly in understanding, his body sinking further into the mattress now that he knows that he's not intruding.

"I can help you, if you like?" he says then and I smile again because I'm so fortunate to have this, I'm so fortunate to have a friend who's this willing to help me with such a draining personal problem.

I nod.

"Just tell me what happened and we'll stop so you can write down what you need to." Kurt says, a hand moving around and stretching behind my back. I always feel better with his arm around me. I think he knows that, in fact, I'm sure he does. He shifts even closer then and positions his hand around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder, "Whenever you're ready, sweetheart." he encourages.

"Okay." I start shyly, "Well, I was going to get a glass of water, because my mouth was so dry and my throat hurt, and while I was in the kitchen making my tea they just… burst through the front door, you know?" I start and Kurt nods.

"So, when they came through the door like that, did that part scare you?" Kurt asks softly, his breathe ghosting over my neck, I fight back a shiver and I frown. The first buds of shame reappearing. I ought to explain myself to him.

"Kurt, I just-" I begin pathetically but he cuts me off.

"Hey, no, listen to me, I'm not judging you, okay? It was the middle of the night, you were tired and loud noises always make you nervous- which really isn't your fault- Blaine, so, it's _okay_. Did it scare you?" he enquires again but his voice is so soft now that it's barely a whisper.

I nod and my cheeks flush red.

"Okay, you should write that down." he says, watching as I do. Moving the pen fluidly over the paper that rests purposefully on my thighs. Kurt's hand gripping at my waist supportively as I write down the words 'scared' and 'trembling'.

"What happened next?" Kurt prompts.

"I saw them standing in the doorway. I saw Puck, I saw Finn. I saw how drunk Finn was. I felt so trapped, you know? I felt cornered. Puck asked me if I wanted them to leave so I could get past, he could see that I felt uneasy.. but I thought… I thought I could handle it, you know? I thought I could do it. But I couldn't. I was being stupid… to even think that I could do that. Obviously." I finish weakly and Kurt tilts his head, so that his face is pressed right next to mine.

"Did that upset you, how drunk Finn was, I mean?" Kurt asks softly and I nod. Writing it down without his prompting; making sure to make a note about how Puck had made me feel a little bit safer by giving me the option of leaving in the first place. He'd handed me complete control of the situation.

"Is there anything else?" Kurt asks next, his free hand reaching down to touch my wrist. The wrist circled with fresh finger-shaped bruises, like a hideous blue and green bracelet. His fingers barely making contact with my skin, it's obvious he doesn't want to hurt me, and finally he says, "Or just the grabbing?"

"Just the grabbing." I confirm quietly and I start to write it down. Explaining how he wouldn't stop, how he wouldn't let me go even when I asked him to, even when I _begged_ him to. I write about how my control ebbed away from me until it was gone and I fell apart in front of everyone. But before tears have the chance to flood my eyes I take it upon myself to explain how Kurt made me feel safe again; how he brought me to his room, locked the door and held my hand all night. I write about how Kurt made it okay to feel upset, how he made it okay to be me. A soft desperate sound escaping his lips as I write about him.

"I think I'm done." I say when my hand stills, the pen frozen mid air once more.

"Are you sure?" Kurt asks, the hand around my waist running itself up and down my side.

"Yeah. I think so. Thanks, for staying here, I mean, if I do this by myself I just end up crying a lot. It's easier when you go through it with me, it makes me think more logically." I offer awkwardly and I can practically feel him smiling, the positive energy radiating off him.

"Anytime." he says brightly and then, "Now, come on. Get yourself dressed and come upstairs. I made you breakfast and your stomach is rumbling away; so I know that you're hungry. Plus, you're in demand. Noah wants to see you before he goes home today, he's been really worried about you... and Finn is practically pacing holes in the floor. And don't forget that we're going shopping. My dad has started giving you an allowance now, so you can buy new clothes." Kurt smiles and I smile right back at him because today, despite the rocky start, I found out that I still give Kurt courage and _that_ gives me courage. In fact, that makes me very hopeful. 

o~o~o

When I finally emerge from Kurt's bathroom, a little more than half an hour later, my hair is reasonably under control, I look clean, I smell nice and I'm dressed and ready for the day. The skinny jeans I'm wearing fit me well and, like always, Kurt helped me with my outfit choice so I know that they must coordinate with my black and white, horizontally striped t-shirt and my red cardigan- the one that Kurt still insists does wonders for me and I'm not going to argue with that.

I walk across the room then, climb up the stairs and take a few deep breaths before I push the door open and step out into the hallway. I straighten myself up and walk straight into the kitchen. The only person in there is Puck and it's almost a relief. He's sitting at the table, staring out of the window, his face calm but fixed.

"Hey, Puck." I say as I cross the threshold and Puck's head snaps around with lightning speed. His face lighting up as he stands to greet me, "Dude."

He closes the distance between us effortlessly and looks me over briefly before he reaches out and holds me in a brief hug. His hands still on my arms when he pulls away.

"Are you okay, I've been worried?" he asks pointedly and I nod. Kurt was right.

"Yeah. I'm fine now." I say, not feeling the need to add '_Kurt made it okay_.' but I still can't stop myself from whispering, "I wish you hadn't seen that, though, Puck."

"Don't ever worry about that." he says quickly before continues, rubbing my arms, "I should have insisted that you went back to bed. Really, Blaine, I feel terrible about it." I shake my head.

"I made the choice.. but thank you.. for giving me that choice in the first place, I mean. You gave me power and control and I haven't had that in my life for a long time and I just.. just thank you, Puck." I stutter out, trying to make sure he understands me.

"Just remember what I told you, Blaine, I've been here too. And if you ever need to talk to me, about_ anything,_ you've still got my number and I'm always on the other end." He promises, his hands falling away from my shoulders as he say, "Do you want me to come with you to talk to Finn?"

"No." I say quietly, "You should go home, Kurt's going to be there, I'll be okay." I offer and he smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, and after another quick hug I walk away from him.

Puck's whispered, "_Courage._" following me out of the room. 

o~o~o

There are a few things I never really expected to see in my lifetime. One of those things is Finn Hudson crying right in front of me. _Because of me._ But he is. In fact, he's absolutely beside himself. He's sitting on the sofa, his face buried in his hands and his shoulders are shaking and shuddering as soft sobs occasionally fall past his lips. I don't know what to do. My body is completely frozen.

Kurt is standing next to me, in the middle of the living room, of course he is, our hands pressed tightly together, only the coffee table separating us from Finn and my heart is pounding incessantly. Finn was fine, I was talking to him, trying to tell him that I don't really blame him for what happened because it's not _him_ that I'm fundamentally afraid of, that honour goes to my father. I was explaining myself, as efficiently as I could, explaining that I'm not afraid of him. He'd just looked up at me sceptically.

Of course, that's when I reached out a hand to reassure him and my cardigan sleeve slipped up a couple of inches. Revealing the ugly ring of bruises. The bruises he put there. His fingerprints all over my skin. He flinched as soon as he saw it, as soon as he realised that he was responsible for it, and that's literally all it took for him to start muttering to himself.

Then his face collapsed and Kurt and I were left helpless as we watched him fall apart before our eyes. My body refusing to move and Kurt refusing to let me go.

"You were supposed to be okay here." he'd cried.

"I told you that I'd have your back." he'd remembered.

"We promised you you'd be safe here." he'd whispered.

"I _hurt_ you, Blaine." he'd wept.

"I hurt you in a place that's supposed to be your _home_." he'd sobbed.

"I made him come back." he'd realised.

"Oh, God, I made him come back, didn't I?" he's saying now and they're the exact same words that he's being repeating for at least ten minutes but that doesn't stop the pain shooting through my chest every time they leave his mouth. Torment and guilt are absolutely consuming his voice as he wipes at his eyes now. He's so upset that my heart is completely breaking for him. Kurt shifts next to me then, his hand squeezing mine.

"I remember.. when Puck... when Puck was like you and how _important_ it was.. how I needed to be so careful around him, you know.. and I.. I went out last night and I got so drunk.. and so _stupid_.. and I _knew_ that I was coming back here. I _knew_ you'd be in the house. I just... I'm so sorry. I'm so, so _sorry_. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you scared. You're supposed to feel safe here. This is your home, Blaine." Finn cries and I shake my head instinctively as my eyes start to fill. Stepping towards him cautiously because I can't watch this anymore and my body agrees; leaving Kurt where he stands as I sit next to Finn and wrap my arms around him.

He turns into me immediately, his hands thrown around me as he presses his face into my neck, "I'm so sorry." he mutters and I bite my lip as a solitary tear slips down my face.

"I know you are, Finn." I whisper unevenly and I wonder how we look, I wonder what Kurt can see. The two of us thrown together on the sofa like this, our different body types pushed so closely together. I wonder if we look ridiculous clinging to one another.. or if we look like a family. I don't think about that for too long, though, because, before I know it, Kurt is sitting in front of us. His legs folded underneath him. A comforting hand resting on both of our legs; a beautiful sadness lingering in his eyes.

Sometimes living here, in this house, is hard for me, I've gone from being completely alone to being completely surrounded, but it's a hardship that I'm more than happy to face, these hard times are constantly overwhelmed by love and when that happens life has never seemed so beautiful to me. I remember what Puck said to me, he told me that love heals, he told me that I have to find love, any kind of love, and cling to it.

I don't ever plan on letting this go.

Not now I'm starting to believe that I belong here. 

o~o~o

We're in the mall, Kurt and I - laughing and smiling with each other as I try on piles of clothes - clothes that I wouldn't usually select for myself but, apparently, today we're changing things up- when I realise that Kurt's staring at me again. It's not overtly obvious but every now and then, when he thinks I'm not looking, he'll give me the same, unreadable, look. I'm not sure what it is, or what it means exactly, but it's like he knows something that I don't know; not in a malicious, vindictive secret-keeping kind of way but in a much purer: I-know-something-you-don't-know-yet but I-just-hope-you'll-be-okay-and-understand-eventually kind of way. Which, I think, is somewhat comforting because at least it's not something too bad, right? Plus, it's not that big of a deal, not really, it's not like he shoots me that look very often. He's far too busy tossing sweaters aside and puling faces every time he sees a mustard coloured shirt because 'why would you wear that?' In fact, being like this, in a mall, with Kurt, on a shopping trip, is one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Every five seconds I feel like I'm learning something new about him. The way he moves, the way he orders the items and then systematically dismisses them in his mind- unless they're truly awful because then he starts a disgusted monologue that always ends in a scowl. Even when his face scrunches up he looks adorable and he still looks incredibly beautiful when he's appalled.

I'm slipping my arms into a cardigan right now, it's cranberry red, and I want to ask Kurt if I _really_ need another red cardigan but the look on his face when I took it from him silences me, he just looks so damn proud of himself. We've been in this store for an hour, Kurt sorting ruthlessly through considerable heaps of clothing, trying to find specific items that will somehow make me look 'fantastic' or 'a little taller' or even those mysterious shirts and jeans that are like the holy grail; the ones that just 'cling to you in all the right places, sweetheart'. I don't dare to ask Kurt where those 'right places' might actually be, because my cheeks are flushing a violent red and clashing with my cardigan, but I'm curious. In fact, I'm _very_ curious indeed and a tiny, perhaps more audacious, part of me wants to know _exactly_ which parts of my body have been giving Kurt his food for thought. Because- when he's not giving me that unfamiliar, unreadable look- his lingering stares are accompanied by an increasing obvious look of adoration for me and in those moments, when I catch him just _looking_, I think that Noah Puckerman may have been very right. Maybe Kurt does feel the same way about me, maybe he's just waiting.

The thought of Kurt thinking about me, finding me attractive, falling in love with me, is enough to make my head spin and after thinking about nothing but secrets and pain for so long it's a relief, an instant release, to have a head full of feelings regarding friendship and love.

"I like that one." Kurt says, gesturing for me to turn around and almost instantly I spin on the balls of my feet. Giving him the opportunity to see the cardigan from all angles.

"Shall I buy it?" I ask then, when I'm facing him again, my bare feet burning lightly from the friction of the floor.

"It brings out your eyes." He says but it doesn't sound like a fluffy cliché when he says it, it sounds like a stone cold fact.

"Which is good thing." I offer and he nods, his breath seeming to hitch a little, "Yeah, that's always good thing. Your eyes are mind blowing beautiful, Blaine. All of these reds bring them out perfectly. Hence I dress you in red whenever you'll let me"

I look at him then, just for a moment, though it feels like forever and I say, "I'll always let you dress me." I wonder then, if I meant more by that statement because I think that maybe I did. I'm not sure what but my heart is starting to race.

He just looks at me for a while, his lips parting a little, his arms full of clothes, a steady blush blooming on his cheeks, before he says, "Try these jeans with it?" I nod and take them from him. Wordlessly walking into the changing room and dragging the jeans that I'm wearing down my legs. Stepping out of them carefully, one hand on the wall so I don't topple over.

I'm standing in the cubicle wearing nothing but the, eye-enhancing, cranberry cardigan, a plain white v-neck t-shirt and my boxers. I reach down and pick the discarded jeans up off the floor. Folding them neatly and setting them down on a chair that's somehow crammed into the small space. When I turn back around, ready to try on the next pair of jeans - this time they're a dark, inky blue and seem incredibly form fitting- I freeze.

I catch sight of myself in the full length mirror and I completely immobilize.

I'm a teenage boy but, due to my circumstances, I've never had much time to look at my own body. I've always had another motive- mainly checking to see if my bruises have faded or if they're still too obvious- and because of that, I've never just looked at myself just to _look_ at myself. You know? Deciding if my shorts were too short for gym class by moving in front of a mirror - just to check that the bruises stayed hidden while I moved- became a daily activity but looking at the curve of my thighs, like I am now, just for the sake of it, that's a completely foreign concept. This is something new. This is something different.

Now I can just observe, now I can just trace the contours of my legs as they taper slightly into my knees and I don't have to worry. The soft, curved shapes and the light muscles of my legs aren't obscured with bitter marks anymore and for the first time in my life, standing in front of this mirror, in this changing room, with Kurt just outside, I wonder if another boy would find me attractive. I wonder if I'm beautiful, if I'm sexually desirable; if I'm worth something.

Sex isn't a completely elusive subject for me, I've just never held it as a high priority- unlike most of the boys my age. I've researched on the internet- I've read about coming out, I've read about being gay, I've read about the mechanics of sex, I've read about being safe but I've never needed the information. I live in _Ohio_ and besides, I'm trying to respect myself and be assertive, I'm trying to treat myself well after I've been mistreated for so long and being sexual active just isn't one of my main concerns. I'm not the kind of person who'd throw himself around anyway, when I want to have sex, when I'm ready, it'll be because I'm in love and I feel safe with that person. Sex generally sounds quite unsafe to me, especially the first time, you're laying yourself bare, you're exposing yourself and becoming impossibly fragile and I'm still trying to regain control over everyday life. I'm still trying not to flinch when people move too quickly and doors close. I'm not ready for something like sex but that doesn't stop me from wondering, that doesn't stop me from looking at my reflection as I spin around, high on my balls of my feet. That doesn't stop me imagining what it would feel like to be so in love with someone that I'd give them everything, all of me, and all of my trust.

I run my hands up my thighs then, symmetrical sensations coursing through my body, and bring them to rest on my hips, my hands pushing under the material of my shirt. My fingers moving backwards so that my fingers meet at my spine before I reverse the motion and my hands are on my stomach. My body is firm but I'm not particularly toned .

I move one of my hands up to my chest then, touching, feeling, exploring, watching as the material of the t-shirt moves as my hand moves under it. I've never done this, I've never felt safe enough to do this in my own house. But I don't live there anymore. It's okay to touch myself and explore my own body.

I take my hands from under my shirt then and straighten out the hemline, reaching out for the jeans that Kurt wanted me to try on, I pull them up my legs. I have all the time in the world to get to know my body but right now I need to concentrate on what I'm supposed to be doing in the changing room- namely _changing_.

Though, honestly, I think a part of me has already changed.

I pick up the other pair of jeans and exit the cubicle. Kurt looking up as soon as I emerge, a soft smile on his face, "There you are." he says.

"Are they okay? They feel a bit tight." I say honestly, perhaps even self-consciously, and he tilts his head a little. His eyes running down my legs.

"Blaine, they're perfect! You never need a bigger size. The waist will give a bit anyway." Kurt offers sincerely and I nod.

"Did you find anything else for me to try on?" I ask, pointing at the pile of clothes in front of Kurt.

"Not really, what you have on right now is perfect." He says happily and I smile, it's a soft, wisp of a smile but it's there.

"It clings in all the right places?" I ask playfully because he's been using that phrase all day and he beams back at me, "Oh, definitely. You look so handsome." Kurt says graciously and I stare at him, at that majestic face of his, taking in every feature before I say, "Kurt, you'll make me blush." He doesn't say anything, he just nods his head once and hands me my actual clothes, the ones I came here in.

"You get dressed, I'll put these back, we'll pay for your new clothes and then I want to show you something." I open my mouth to object because in Kurt-talk that means he wants to buy me something but he just shakes his head and says, "Please, Blaine, no objecting. I want to. Now, hurry up, I'm excited.

When we eventually leave the mall Kurt leads me through a maze of buildings before he stops us still outside a tiny shop, a shop I almost didn't see, with hundreds of old records stuck to the windows.

"Why are we here?" I ask and Kurt smiles then, he looks so proud of himself, "Well, I know you love to write music and I just thought, since you're part of my family now, I'd make our room more of you and a little less of me. So, I called the guy that owns this shop and I used my allowance this month to buy you a new keyboard. It's not fancy or anything, but it's the best the guy had for my budget. While we were out today I had it delivered to the house. So, it'll be there when we get home." he says and my jaw falls open, gratitude nowhere near a strong enough word to describe how I feel. My heart is pounding and my eyes are tearing and it's not even the gift, that perfect gift, it's the meaning behind it, it's the feeling, it's the love that's formed a lump in my throat, "_Kurt_.." is all I can say.

"I was thinking that maybe we could work on something together later, after my dad has talked to you about schools? I wanted to tell you earlier but I didn't want you thinking about transfers all day. I wanted you to enjoy yourself." It makes sense then, those looks he was giving me earlier. But I don't care about that, I care about Kurt. I care about what he's just done for me. I think about all of the little things that have changed today. I think it's all _much_ bigger than the sum of my parts and when a tear slips down my cheek, Kurt just wipes it away and says, "Welcome to the family." 

o~o~o


	19. Chapter 19

Thank you, so much, for the beautiful comments you've all been leaving for this story and for the support. This chapter brings you all up to date thus far.. and so encouragement and badgering me on tumblr (nataliescourageclub) would be very helpful. Thank you, again.. now back to writing. 3

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19.<strong>

* * *

><p>o~o~o<p>

Kurt and I are barely inside the house, our fingers blue and numb from the cold, when we start stripping off our damp coats and scarves. Utterly desperate for the warmth of the house to touch our cold skin instead of our rain-wet clothes and even though the heating had been on at it's highest setting in Kurt's car the plummeting weather had, for all intents and purposes, rendered it beyond useless. Kurt had proceeded to rant about useless cars and faulty parts and how he was going to get his dad to have a proper look at it later and I had just sat there, silently, with a baffled expression on my face. Listening to him talk about technical things while using words that I'd never even heard before.

It always amazes me that Kurt knows so much about cars, how to build them, how to fix them; how to make them run more efficiently. It shouldn't be a surprise, not really, because Burt's a mechanic and Kurt goes to help his dad out whenever he can - in his spotless blue coveralls- but it's still a shock somehow. And I feel absolutely _awful _for stereotyping him, even in my head, but you just don't imagine that the lean, perfectly groomed boy who slips into French occasionally and reads Vogue magazine religiously would be capable of changing a tyre in two minutes flat or diagnosing serious engine problems in no time at all.. but he can and he _does _and I love that about him. I love that almost as much as I love the way his nose scrunched up five seconds ago- when we'd both instinctively dropped the bags of shopping we were holding to the floor with a heavy thud; in favour of ridding ourselves of our wet clothes.

I rub my hands together vigorously, in an attempt to spark warmth, while we look at the bags of new clothes that we let fall to the floor in a swift crescendo. I'm about to bend down and scoop some of them up when Mr Hummel's voice calls out to us.

"Can I talk to you boys?" he says, his sturdy voice as friendly as it always is, his enquiry wafting steadily down the hallway to welcome us in from the cold. A fiery warmth automatically blossoming in my chest and I smile. The deepened syllables of Burt's words never fail to fill me with an all encompassing warmth and I find it hard to believe that his presence once made me feel uneasy, uncomfortable and nervous. Especially because I now _know_ that Burt makes me feel less troubled, more at ease about myself and increasingly at peace inside my own head. Something I will forever thank him for.

I turn to look at Kurt then and he smiles softly at me.

"Just give us a second, dad." Kurt shouts out in reply, something close to nervousness flashing briefly across his face as he does, and it's more than obvious that he's a little worried about this, he's worried about the inevitable conversation, about me going to a new school, a school where he isn't. He's worried about us being apart, about me being alone somewhere, about the flashbacks that could spark in my brain any second and him not there to bring me back. I know this because those are my worries too but I need a little courage, I need the courage to carry on with my life and not be afraid anymore. I am in control of my own life now, my own destiny, I can make my own decisions and right now I know that I have to make the decision to go to school because I want to make something of my life. I want to prove my father wrong because every time he called me _stupid_, or _worthless_, or _useless_ he _was_ wrong.

There's been a subtle shift inside of me over the last few days and I can see it all again. I can see my dreams, I can see my hopes, I can smell the cold air and see the blue skies and I can feel alive, I can feel love. I can feel loved. Cared for. Worried about. And now I know that's okay.

"Ready, sweetheart?" Kurt asks softly and I want to ask him why he's started calling me that but I don't, I just nod my head, because I'm as ready as I can be for this. Plus, I've had such a beautiful, unforgettable day with Kurt and, right now, _everything _seems like it could be okay. I could be on a ship, surrounded by merciless bounds of stormy ocean and even if my ship had a leak and a broken sail, I'd still be feeling optimistic about it.

"I'm ready." I say and then I follow Kurt into the Kitchen.

I expect Burt to be sitting at the table, waiting, but he's actually sanding by the sink, a glass of water in hand, taking the same tiny pills he takes everyday, for his heart. When he's swallowed them down he puts his glass in the sink and turns around, a smile ghosting over his lips. He looks over us both then and gestures for us to sit. We do. But when I'm taking a seat and I catch Burt looking at me I automatically pull down on my sleeve and push my eyes to the floor. I know that I'm trying to cover the bruising on my wrist and I _know_ that it's absolutely ridiculous. Kurt told his dad exactly what happened between Finn and I last night, he told me so. I just can't help it, I've been here too many times before. Trying to hide things from people I don't want to hurt, it's just hardwired into my brain- _keep it hidden, Blaine._

"Is your wrist bothering you?" Burt asks then, perceptive as always, fatherly concern flooding his features, as he nods down at my sleeve and sits down opposite us. I drag my eyes up, not because I owe it to him but because I _want_ to, and I shake my head.

"No, not at all." I reassure before I add, "It's fine, really, Mr Hummel, you don't have to worry, sir, it's just a habit I have with bruises." I almost flinch when I hear my own words because I know he likes me to call him 'Burt' but the whole business of bruises makes me uneasy and Burt looks horrified for a second but I know it's not for the same reason. His concerned eyes lingering on my face for a while before he glances at Kurt quickly and starts talking.

"Well, I wont keep you long, I just wanted to talk about schools. I phoned around on my lunch break today- practically every school within an hour's commute- and only two schools take new students halfway through the year. There were a few others… others that would take you if they could talk to Dalton extensively but I didn't want to give your father any idea about where you might be going. I'm never letting that bastard near you again, Blaine, and I'm certainly not leaving him a paper trail." Burt finishes determinedly and I just nod in understanding because that makes a lot of sense to me. Though, mainly, I'm just incredibly grateful that Burt is so consistently concerned about my safety. That's such a profound and beautiful concept to me- that a man can take his son's best friend into his home, without question, and then become such a great example of a dad to him. Because that's what Burt is to me now.

"Which schools would take me?" I ask quietly then, after the silence hangs for a while, and Burt frowns.

My stomach starts to twist unpleasantly.

"St. Anthony's… and McKinley." Burt offers very apologetically and I can feel Kurt tensing up next to me. His whole body is stiffening. The atmosphere has completely changed. Just like that.

"Dad." Kurt says- before I can get a word in - his voice full of unswerving conviction, "Blaine is _not_ going there."

"Kurt." Burt warns firmly, looking at his son briefly before his focus falls back on me, his mouth opening slightly, only to be cut off by Kurt again.

"You _know_ what they did to me there!" Kurt reminds his dad coldly and Burt actually grimaces.

"This isn't about you, son. This is about _Blaine_." Burt tries calmly but Kurt just slams his palms harshly on the table. I automatically flinch but he's obviously being protective, it's obvious from his posture and for that reason alone I'm not scared of him. I'm _never_ afraid of Kurt, I just wasn't expecting it.

"Karofsky said he was going to _kill_ me, dad, for being myself, for being just like Blaine, for being _gay_." Kurt reminds harshly and something changes in Burt's face then. A powerful mix of anger and pain and regret floods his features.

"You think I don't _know_ that, Kurt? You think that doesn't upset me; doesn't make me feel _sick_ with worry, son? I want him to be safe; I want _all_ of you kids to be safe. There's just nowhere else for him to go, St. Anthony's is as expensive as Dalton and I just don't have that kind of money, Kurt. I don't have it. I've been over the figures a hundred times. We just _can't_ afford it. " Burt explains emotively and I bite my lip- tears threatening to fill my eyes because I can't help but feel like I'm causing them a lot of trouble again and Burt sounds so upset, so regretful, like it's his fault that he can't afford to put two kids through private school. It's not. That's _not_ his fault. I have to close my eyes for a second.

"They _hurt_ me, dad." Kurt says sadly then and Burt's brow creases, "I know they did, buddy, but it's the only place he can go and it'll be different for him. I promise."

"How? _How_ will it be different?" Kurt shouts bitterly and I reach out a hand and place it over one of his balled fists. I need him to stop shouting. I need him to stop shouting _right now_ or I'm going to start crying. I'm going to start crying because I can't bear listening to him while he's this upset. I can't listen to him talk about all of the pain he endured, alone, in a place that was supposed to be safe, and stay strong about it because they _hurt_ him and he never deserved a single moment of it. He was just being himself, he was just refusing to hide, he was refusing to be anyone who wasn't one-hundred percent Kurt Hummel and they made that a punishable offence.

"He'll have people looking out for him from the very start." Burt says then, dragging me back to the conversation, before he looks right at me and he looks so heartbreakingly sad, "I talked to Finn and Puck; they said they wouldn't leave you alone. No one would be able to lay a hand on you, son." he reasons and I just nod, I don't know what else I can do, because I don't think I can talk.

"No, dad, _please_?" Kurt begs then, but he's not shouting now, now he just sounds wounded, hurt noises falling out of his mouth before he says, "You don't know what it's like there."

"Kurt. I saw the bruises, I saw you crying your heart out so don't you tell me what I do and don't know. Because I _know_, Kurt, okay? I may not have known how bad it was, son, but when I saw, when I really _saw_, I realised what that place had done to you, to your confidence, to your self esteem. So, don't tell me I don't know because it broke my heart to see what they did to you, Kurt. It broke my heart and I wont watch the same thing happen to Blaine. I wont let that happen, not again." Burt promises and his eyes are shining.

"They're horrible people." Kurt mutters and I squeeze his hand. Burt doesn't even blink. I can only imagine the repercussion had I held Kurt's hand in front of my own father.. but I shake that thought clean out of my head.

"Kurt," I say then because I really ought to say something, "I need to go to school. I need to make something of my life. I'll be okay. I'll have Finn and Puck.. and you know how protective Puck is." I offer automatically and that earns an emotional sigh from Kurt.

"I know. I _know_, Blaine, I just worry. I don't want anyone to hurt you or upset you or make you doubt yourself." Kurt says turning to me slightly, his wide eyes shining down at me like his dad's, "I don't want them to plant ideas in your head.. that you're not perfect, that you're wrong somehow, that you're not good enough. I don't want to give them a chance to make that even the _smallest_ of possibilities because there's nothing wrong with you, or me, or us, Blaine. No matter what they say and do. But that can be.. it can be so _hard_ to remember in a place like that.." Kurt whispers painfully.

"Blaine," Burt starts earnestly then, "If this feels like too much, too soon, you can tell me; I'll think of something else, okay? You don't have to do anything until you're ready, son."

"I think it's worth a shot." I say quietly, honestly, optimistically after a pause and Kurt leans into me then, though, he can't quite look at me and Burt just nods softly in understanding.

"I can go and sort out the paperwork on Monday. So, you'll be able to go there from Wednesday but I want you to think about it. Really think about it. I want you to talk to Ellen and then I want you to come and talk to me or to Kurt. If you have a _single_ doubt about this, or if it puts too much on your shoulders, you need to tell us. There are a lot of people that love you here and we want to help you, son." Burt says and I nod before I say, "I know."

"Good. Now you boys go and enjoy the rest of your day, okay? I'm going back to the garage for a few hours." Burt offers and as he stands and starts walking away I say, "Thank you, Burt." He quickly waves it off but he stops dead in his tracks when Kurt opens his mouth and quietly mutters, "I'm really sorry, dad."

"No, you don't apologise for that. You were protecting him, Kurt. That's not a bad thing; it shows you care. Son, you didn't have a concern that wasn't my own, I promise you." Burt implores and Kurt nods.

"I just love you so much. I hate upsetting you." Kurt whispers then and Burt smiles. It's the kind of smile that, if it had a voice, would say _'I'd rather you upset me than yourself, son.'_

"I love you too, kid." Is what Burt actually says, "I love _both_ of you boys. Now go on. Finn told me something about a keyboard and I'm sure you'd rather be doing that than sitting up here. Enjoy yourself, relax a little, be kids- eat junk food, play video games, watch football." Kurt's face scrunches up in instant disgust and I can't help but echo the laugh that follows Burt out of the door.

"We are _not_ doing that." Kurt implores, his eyes still shining, and I just smile at him knowingly "Of course we aren't, Kurt." 

o~o~o

It's _beautiful_. It's the most glorious, magnificent thing I have ever seen in my life - sitting stoically on a black x-frame at the bottom of Kurt's bed just waiting to be played, just waiting to be touched, his dresser stool pulled up in front of it, and it doesn't matter that it's not the most expensive keyboard, or that it's not like the one I had to hide under my bed, or that it has a few scratches on it. It's the thought behind it, it's the meaning, it's the fact that Kurt did this, bought this, for me. For _me_.

I want to reach out a hand and run my fingertips over the glorious keys, the soft light of Kurt's room giving the whole thing and enticing glow, drawing me in, compelling me forwards. I'm overcome with a throbbing desire to press my fingers, to move them, to make music. All of this, this familiar, longing need is because of him, because he cares. I look over at him then, "Oh, Kurt. It's perfect." I gush unabashed.

"I'm glad you like it." he says shyly, his soft expressions radiating happiness, "I don't know if it's as good as your other one but I hope it makes you feel more at home anyway." I want to reach out to Kurt now and say something like, _'Kurt, my last keyboard was hidden under my bed for it's and my safety'_ but I don't.

Instead, I whisper, "Kurt, I have never felt more at home in my life." and at that he reaches out and pushes my shoulder playfully, a small burst of laughter rushing past those perfect lips of his, "Stop it." he says.

"What?" I ask lightly and he grins, "Stop being so sweet, Blaine, my teeth will fall out and who will love me then?" He's almost beaming at me, his earlier sadness forgotten, as I say, "You'll always have me." He shoots me an amused look before he gestures at the keyboard and leans in whispering, hot against my ear, "Play me something beautiful, sweetheart?"

"Of course." I say because I don't need convincing and I move to take the stool in front of the keyboard. Kurt moves too, onto his bed, shuffling forward and crossing his legs so his knees are pressed against the back of the keyboard. We're still so close to one another, so close I could swear that I can still feel the heat of his body. As if he was touching me.

"You'll sing with me?" I ask then as Kurt settles himself and I flex my fingers, it's been a while. It's been a very long time since I could play so openly in a place that isn't a school's music room.

"An opportunity to burst into song is an opportunity I'm _always_ going to take, Blaine." Kurt says honestly as he reaches out and presses the red power button - a tiny screen shining brightly at me like an unexpected greeting card. A card that just says: _I've missed you terribly._ I can't help but think about what's about to happen; about how close Kurt and I will be as we sing; how every time I look up Kurt will be looking right at me. How our voices will crash into one another until they sink into our familiar harmony.

"Pick something I know, though." that's all Kurt says as he watches me, observes me, pressing my fingers against the keys, testing. The notes ring out and as they fade away everything suddenly seems deathly quiet; everything seems so unbelievably close. It's so damn intimate, so perfect, so important that my heart starts to race. This is _us_. This is really us. This is who we really are. Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson.

"Are you ready?" I ask then and Kurt nods modestly at me, like there's a worry somewhere inside of him that he's not going to be good enough. Which is stupid because I have never heard _anyone_ sing like him.

I take a deep breath and I let my fingers fall. I know this song; I know it well. I let the opening notes fill the room - bold and clear- everything seems so beautiful and I'm suddenly feeling so emotional. I've missed doing this, feeling this. I close my eyes as I play, Kurt's soft, "Oh, Blaine." mixing in with music perfectly as he recognises the song and I take another deep breath. The air ballooning my lungs.

I open my mouth and I sing the words, the _perfect_ words, that sum up Kurt and Blaine and everything that we are and everything that we hope to be.

"To dream the impossible dream,  
>To fight the unbeatable foe,<br>To bear with unbearable sorrow,  
>To run where the brave dare not go."<p>Kurt takes over then, a content smile on his face as he sings.<p>"To right the unrightable wrong,  
>To love pure and chaste from afar,<br>To try when your arms are too weary,  
>To reach the unreachable star."<p>We finish the rest of the song together. "This is my quest,<br>To follow that star,  
>No matter how hopeless,<br>No matter how far.

To fight for the right,  
>Without question or pause,<br>To be willing to march into Hell,  
>For a heavenly cause.<p>

And I know if I'll only be true,  
>To this glorious quest,<br>That my heart will lie peaceful and calm,  
>When I'm laid to my rest."<p>

And it's suddenly so much _harder_ to breathe. It's suddenly so much harder to focus on _anything_ because Kurt has leaned forward and he has one of his hands pressed against my cheek and I can't take my eyes off him. He's looking at me with eyes that beg me to understand him, that beg me to understand that he's here with me, on my quest, whatever that quest turns out to be. And as we finish the song together I hope he understands that _I know_ and that I'm here for _him_ too because I love him and he's the greatest person I've ever known.

"And the world will be better for this,  
>That one man, scorned and covered with scars,<br>Still strove with his last ounce of _courage_,  
>To reach the unreachable star!"<p>Silence hangs around us for a while when we've finished singing and all I can hear is the repetitive thud of my own heart and Kurt's soft breathing because he's so damn close to me. He runs his thumb down my face one last time and then lets his hand fall onto mine. Lifting it gently and laying the softest of kisses on my knuckles. His eyes closed before he looks up at me from behind heavy lashes, ready to explain himself.<p>

"Kurt.." I say knowingly but he shakes his head and it's getting so warm in here, with the memory of those lips pressed against my skin, running through my head.

"Blaine.. I- I know that you're figuring things out right now. But when you're ready and if.. if you want to.. you don't have to… you never _have_ to.. but if you _want_ to.. I just.. I'd really like it if.. if maybe you and I.. if we maybe could.." he stutters and I smile at him. Standing up and walking around the keyboard, climbing onto the bed and sitting next to him. Maybe this is the moment, the moment Puck had talked about, the _right_ moment because I think it is. It feels right.

I take a deep breath as I settle next to him, our thighs pressed together as I reach out to take one of his hands. He lets me, of course he does, because I know he thinks he's done something wrong and this is my chance to change that. For good.

"Kurt," I start our legs brushing together, our hands clasped tightly, and I'm just praying that the right words come out; that he understands, "Sometimes there is a moment; a moment when you say to yourself 'Oh, there you are, I've been looking for you forever' but sometimes… sometimes your entire time together has been that moment. Sometimes it's been nothing but that moment but you don't realise it because you're focused on something else. Like being okay again. And I know what you're trying to tell me, Kurt. And I- I want that too. I _want_ that. And when I'm ready we can have that. We can have _everything_. You're the greatest, most compassionate person I have ever met, Kurt, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that we can't be what we both want right now but, please, if you'll just wait a little longer I can be yours. _All yours_. I just need to make sure I have _me_ first. I'm sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?" I finish weakly, a heavy blush on my cheeks and I try to pull away but Kurt wont let me and apparently he's found his voice again.

"No, you're not rambling, Blaine. What I did, _that_ was rambling." Kurt says softly, his wide eyes looking deep into me.

"Kurt-" I start apologetically but he shushes me softly.

"I'll wait for you, Blaine. I'd wait for you forever because even if we never make it that far… you'll still always be my best friend."

"In the whole universe?" I can't help but add and he laughs, a single tear slipping down his perfect face as he says, "And beyond."

"Thank you." I say softly, our eyes meeting again as he wipes his tear away, and what I really mean is: Thank you for waiting, Kurt, for understanding, for not pushing me, for not making me uncomfortable, for not making me afraid, for not making me feel stupid; for just loving _me_. All of me, every single version of me you have ever known. The final version of me that's blooming right in front of your eyes- even with all of it's hitches.

"I love you, Blaine." he says then and I reply but this time it's different because this time we both know that one day, hopefully soon, our love will be something new, something more and I have never felt like this. I have never felt so full of love. I feel like I could burst. 

o~o~o

Kurt is making a start on dinner, he wants to do something nice for Burt- because he still feels bad about their argument- so, he's following a handwritten recipe for the delicious beef casserole that Carole likes to make. I'm doing what I can to help- chopping carrots and potatoes and generally just trying not to get under his feet - because everyone should be home soon and he wants to have it all in the oven before they arrive. But he keeps shooting me these sweet little glances and they're very distracting. So distracting that when I'm pushing my knife through yet another carrot it slams straight down awkwardly and nicks my finger. I hiss in pain and blood starts gushing everywhere.

"Oh, god." I say and Kurt spins around, a look of searching concern on his face. I lift my finger to show him and the blood just slips down it. A long red line running down the back of my hand.

"Oh, Blaine." he says, walking towards me, only stopping at the sink to turn on the cold water faucet, "Come on, put you hand under that. I need to see how bad it is."

I follow his instructions and I cringe as the jet of water hits the cut, it's nowhere near the worst I've ever had, in fact, it's relatively insignificant, but it still stings. It still hurts.

"I'm so sorry." he says, "I've been distracting you. Does it hurt?" he asks and I shrug as he groans, "It does, doesn't it? I'm the worst future boyfriend ever, aren't I?" I can't help but smile at him now, this is a new side to Kurt, a flustered, less self-assured Kurt and he's adorable. The throb in my chest overwhelming the throb of my finger.

"It's fine. It probably wont be bleeding when I take it from under the water, Kurt." I offer but he doesn't seem convinced. So, I move it away to show him and as a new circle of blood pools around the nick he groans, "Put it back under, I'll find you a band aid. It's really the least I can do, Blaine." 

o~o~o

For the first time, in what feels like a long time, I wake up shaking and absolutely terrified out of my mind. There's a deep tremor running through both of my hands and I'm gasping as I try to breathe, as I try to catch my breath and shake away the feeling of his fingers pressed against my throat in a familiar, unwavering grip. He wouldn't let me go this time, he wouldn't stop, he strangled me until I passed out and then I woke up.

There are unshed tears brimming in my eyes, so I can barely see, and I want to curl up into a little ball and fade away, I want to hide myself and just hope that he can't get at me because he wasn't supposed to do that. He wasn't supposed to come at night, not anymore. He shouldn't be here. I don't want him to be here. In this room. In my dreams. I think about making a break for the bathroom now, I think about running in there, turning on the light and pulling my knees up under my chin until it's daylight again but I can't. I don't think my legs can carry me that far because when I lifted one of my legs upon waking the tremble followed the movement. I'm stuck here with Kurt sleeping so peacefully next to me and I wonder if it would always be like this. Whether I'm worth the stress of it all and that makes me feel sick. This whole thing makes me feel sick. I'm not going to belittle myself. Not anymore. Every time I try to hold onto a new hope something happens to bring him back. First that flashback and now _this.._

I feel hopeless, I feel defeated, I feel scared. I feel like I'm back there. My face collapses then and the little composure I actually had completely crumbles. I stuff my knuckles into my mouth, the knuckles Kurt had kissed so softly earlier, in an attempt to smoother the sound of my crying. Because I _am_ crying now. I'm almost bending myself in half as I try to push the feeling away. As I try to stop my hands from shaking but I can't and when I look over at Kurt again, when I see how content he looks, I feel awful for what I'm about to do. I feel stupid as I reach out a hand and touch his shoulder.

"Kurt?" I whisper, a shaking sob almost taking over completely, but he doesn't move. I touch his face then, turning so I'm looking at him properly, my legs crossed under me as I try to wake him up.

"Kurt, please, I'm s-so scared. Please. I'm so sorry… b-but I need you.. I need you r-right now, Kurt. You need to tell me I'm okay. Please.." I sniff before a low sob slips out of my mouth and his eyes shoot open.

"Blaine? W-what's going on, are you-" he starts automatically but he cuts himself off as his brain goes through a process of realisation, before he understands, and he drags himself upright, flicking the bedside lamp on as he moves. Urgency and fear smothering his features, just like the darkness had.

"Blaine, what happened? What's just happened to you, sweetheart?" he says reaching out a hand to touch my face, I flinch backwards and he pulls his hand away in shock. His eyes are huge. That's not what I meant to do, I pull his hand back to my face, before it falls into his lap, and I nuzzle into it. Searching desperately for comfort. My hand still over his.

"Blaine, please, tell me what happened. Please? Did he hurt you again?" Kurt asks and his voice sounds so small that it breaks my heart. What exactly am I doing, here?

"K-kurt.. I can't do this anymore." I say honestly and he shakes his head.

"Yes, you can, sweetheart. You're so brave, you can't give up, not now. You're nearly there." He implores but I just shake my head as a new flow of tears run down my face.

"No, I'm _not_ and I'm never going to be okay. I'm never going to be _normal_, Kurt." I cry and he looks so upset.

"Blaine, please, don't give up on me." he whispers and that makes me pull my hand away from his.

"Your hands are shaking." he whispers to himself then and I try to pull away from him altogether.

"No, Blaine, please. Come on, you're just upset. I know you want to work through this with me because you woke me up to ask for my help and there's nothing wrong with that. I'm right here, sweetheart. What did I tell? Where did I say I'd always be?" He asks then and he uses his hand to turn my jaw- so I'm looking right at him through my teary eyes. He applies enough force to move me and keep me there but he's nowhere near hurting me. I don't know how he knows, how he can see all of those fine lines and never cross a single one, but I'm so grateful.

"Where will I always be, Blaine?" he asks again and I try to swallow down the lump that's formed bitterly in my throat before I say, "Here with me."

Kurt nods his head then and he says, as firmly as he can manage, "Now tell me what that bastard just did to you."

I explain it to him then, as well as I can through my tears, I tell him what has just happened to me. How my father called me 'disgusting' and how it almost hurt me as much as his hand on my throat and his fists in my face did. How him calling me a 'dirty faggot' hurt me almost as much as the bruises and the pain because every time he says it, every time my phantom father spits it at me with revulsion, he makes me wonder if maybe I _am_ wrong. Just for a second. But I'm not, I'm not wrong, I know that, I explain, because Kurt's not wrong and Santana isn't wrong and Karofsky isn't wrong either - not for that reason.

Kurt just listens and encourages me to open myself up to him because I have nothing to fear in here and no one can get in this room without our say so.

"Lie back down." Kurt says eventually and I want to say that I can't, in case I fall asleep but he stops my words dead when he presses a finger to my lips.

"Yes, you can. I'll watch over you." He says and I wonder what I did to deserve him as I settle back down and he turns on his side to watch me sleep. 

o~o~o

When I wake up it's to the sound of Kurt's soft voice, he's talking quietly over on the other side of the room with Carole. Carole's down here, I fidget a little then and make sure I'm covered up. I'm in my pyjamas but still, common decency.

"So, what do you think?" she says, a pause falling between them before Kurt replies.

"I don't know. Blaine had a bit of a rough night. I don't know if he'll be up to it." I hear him say and for some reason that makes me smile.

"Well, just let me know because I'd love to have lunch with you both today." Carole says and I can her the soft smile in her voice.

"I'll asks him when he wakes up." Kurt promises softly, "Scouts honour."

"You're always so happy these days Kurt." Carole muses.

"I know my best friend is safe, that makes me the happiest person in the world." Kurt confesses and I can't help but smile to myself then because I know that Kurt is going to make it okay. He's already making my day brighter.. because that's just who he is.

"Oh, honey. You're such a sweet young man." I hear Carole say and then, "I'm so glad to have you as a part of my family now."

"I'm glad I have you too. And Blaine." Kurt whispers and I can tell there's probably a soft blush on his cheeks.

"And Blaine." she repeats before she adds, " You know, Kurt, a year ago today I only had one beautiful son… and now I have three! And you two boys didn't even come with the crippling pain of childbirth. Which I have to say is a bonus. I'm the luckiest woman in the world." Kurt laughs then and my smile broadens because no matter how much I miss my mother I know she can't come back, she's been gone for such a long time and lying here, listening to them talk, listening to Carole be Carole... I know that she could be for me what she is for Kurt. That special person who can almost fit the mother shaped holes left in our lives and I think I'm okay with that. In fact, I know I'm okay with that. I'm okay with that becaue she fits so perfecly next to Burt and Burt is everything I hoped I could have for a dad. These beautiful people, all of them, are what I no longer have to long for. 

o~o~o


	20. Chapter 20

**Note:** This chapter was originally a 9,000 word nightmare. So, I cut it in half and edited it- so it actually made sense. I hope it's okay. There's a lot of talking but life isn't always action packed. I couldn't just send him straight to school. I had to be sure that _he_ was ready because I genuinely care about my Blaine. 3

* * *

><p><p>

o~o~o

Ellen reminds me of Kurt, in a way, those beautiful, soft freckles covering her pale skin like flecks of misplaced pepper, as she strives to help me abandon my invasive insecurities again and again and again. Her words running through my brain until her positive notions take root and I actually start to believe her; until the ideas begin to bloom and I actually start to trust, wholeheartedly, in what she's actually saying to me. It's such a beautiful feeling, that knowledge that, deep down, I _know_ that I'm doing okay; that I'm surviving; that I'm slowly moving on. That I just _forget_ sometimes.

It's not easy- trying to retrieve yourself from the rubble and the wreckage of your life but I know that with a little determination and a lot of self-belief I can do it. I can do _this_. In fact, I'm absolutely determined to fix myself now because I have so much going for me. There's so much hope burning deep down inside of my chest- and despite all of the dramatic changes in my life and all of the unexpected shifts thrown at me by an already unsteady tide- I can actually see a bold and bright future for myself. A future that not only matches my continuing desire to make something of myself but also highlights my need to be loved by another human being and underlines an ever-expanding part of me that's almost ready to be completely free.

I'm almost ready to leap into the unknown and spread my wings wide open; I'm almost ready to let the wind carry me away from my past because no one can tether me down, not anymore, I'm no longer confined to live a half-life in a cage, my voice isn't being smothered anymore. I can reach out and sing my song, my _honest_ song in all of it's glory. I'm finally reclaiming my voice. I can physically feel the shift sometimes. Every passing day is a new beginning where I learn new things about myself and I'm always scared, of course I am, but it's the fear of the unknown rather than the fear of the familiar and that feels so much better. That feels like such a welcomed relief.

I refocus on Ellen now, watching as her expressive hands travel through the air as she talks. I've been in her company for a little over forty minutes today- her bright sea-green eyes sparkling brightly at me as she continues to ask me delicate question after delicate question. Searching me so carefully, in a way that I've come to realise is very _Ellen_, never pushing me too hard, but not giving up until I've informed her about absolutely everything that's happened to me over the last few days- from Finn, to spending time with Kurt, to exploring my own body, to the horrific nightmare I had. The nightmare that wasn't supposed to slip past the lock on Kurt's door. The nightmare that's thrown me a little because I thought they were gone; I thought _that_ part was over. But it's okay because Ellen says it's okay and I trust her.

I find it hard not to tell her the truth, I find it impossible to look at Ellen and then flat out deny her the knowledge of my true feelings- the twisting, shifting emotions that I'm not even aware I have sometimes. The feelings that gush out of me in huge torrents- only for her to gather them all up fearlessly and then return them to me in a neat, manageable bundle. She's my secret keeper. My beautiful red-headed confidant with her soft, inviting office and her proudly displayed certificates that prove she knows what she's doing.

In here, in her office, I just talk and talk and talk until I've laid my heart out for her, until I've ripped it clean out of my chest and offered it up to her with a heartfelt letter of apology and a burning measure of shame to wash it all down with. She's looking right at me now, curiosity written all over her face, holding my eyes steadfast with hers, trying to make me truly understand that I'm still making progress, that I'm still moving in the right direction, that these things do actually happen. That it's not a sign of overwhelming failure, that it's not a reason to let hope slip through my fingers. She's urging me to comprehend that I'm actually doing well as I grip a balled up, damp tissue. But my tears have long stopped.

"The real question," Ellen says eventually, her words flowing out of her oh-so easily, like our entire session has been building up to this moment, and maybe it has, "Is are _you_ ready to go back to school? Is _Blaine Anderson_ ready to walk up and down hallways again? Is Blaine Anderson ready to make a new set of friends? Craft a brand new beginning for himself? Achieve the academic success that we both know he's very capable of? Is he ready to spread his wings?" That final expression catches my attention and I tilt my head a little. Can she see in my head that clearly? I think about it for a while and then I think about everything else. Ellen watching me carefully as my brain ticks over and my fingertips start to press themselves together. A subconscious habit I've formed when I'm nervous- or so Ellen tells me.

I try to explain myself then.

"I.. I'm honestly just trying to figure out who I am. Who Blaine Anderson is." I mutter truthfully and somewhat surprisingly her smile grows.

"I still don't know exactly who Ellen Walker is, Blaine, it's not something you need to be specifically worried about. I promise you. You're human. You grow, develop and change with every passing day and sometimes it can be hard to follow- especially if you've had your personality and your opinions repressed- but that's not your fault and now you finally have an opportunity to catch up with yourself. You should take it. Some people never get that chance." She finishes without difficulty, the ease of her manner calming the nerves that threaten to surge through me any minute now.

"Do you think-" I begin then, my hands falling into my lap, clasping together nervously- both bashful and bold all at once, "Do you think I'll be okay?"

"I think you've got enough gumption to see you through anything, Blaine; the fact that you have such a wonderful, understanding and accepting support system will only aid your recovery." she urges again and I tilt my head in thought. _Recovery._ She uses that word a lot; easily as often as she uses words like 'progress' and 'change' and 'future'. And I can't help but smile to myself then. Thinking about how, in the short weeks I've known Ellen, her words have moved so far away from 'fear' and 'unsafe' and 'confused'.

"I think… I think I _want_ to go to school." I say eventually, pressing my palms into my thighs, the heels of my hands digging into my legs almost uncomfortably, "I mean, for _me_, you know? I just.. I worry so damn _much_ about it. It's all I've been thinking about."

"What about it worries you the most?" Ellen asks encouragingly, my eyes falling to the floor as a sudden flourish of shame rises through me. One of my hands rising shakily to curl around a bicep. I feel like such a child, sitting here like this, doing this.

"I worry about _everything_." I start anxiously, my eyes flickering from her to the window and the world outside, "I worry that I might have a flashback… that I'll completely humiliate myself in front of hundreds of people. I worry that they'll hate me; that they'll look at me with disgust and hatred burning in their eyes. I worry that I wont fit in, that maybe I _can't_ fit in, that I wont be able to find my place. I worry that, somehow, everyone will find out about my secrets or that _no-one_ will find out about my secrets .. because that almost seems as bad, you know? Does that even make sense? I probably doesn't, I'm sorry, Ellen. I'm just so scared. If those people who couldn't destroy Kurt start on me… they _will_ destroy me. I'm not as strong as Kurt is and I just don't want to give anybody _any_ reasons to start." I say honestly and Ellen's eyes start searching me, probing me for clues, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth and I look away, I have to.

I decide to focus on the clouds outside instead.

_Just let me fly._

"Reasons?" she asks then and I shrug awkwardly.

"Reasons to bully me, I guess.. reasons to push me around.. reasons to hate me without even _trying_ to get to know me." My eyes fall to the floor, "I don't want them to become what I've just escaped. I don't want to let them get away with hurting me… like I let my father get away with hurting me. I'm sick of feeling like a pushover. I'm done with it. I'm done with being so damn afraid all of the time. I want to be the Blaine Anderson that's _not_ scared of everything. The person inside of me that just wants to live.. to love." I mutter hopelessly.

"Blaine, you are that person. As for your flashbacks, you just have to stay very alert. Focus on reality. Stick close to Puck and Finn. Settle yourself in. Face it head on but at _your_ pace. I know it must feel like such a lot to comprehend but if you're careful then being surrounded by something new could actually be very good for you." Ellen says then and I look up at her again. Our eyes meeting firmly.

"I hope it is. I want it to be good for me." I say and she smiles warmly at me, "If you _do_ have a problem, though, you need to tell someone, okay? Don't let it fester. You're not alone anymore. You can always call me. You have my number. Or talk to Kurt- he seems to ground you quite easily. He pulls you out of a lot of things that you can't handle by yourself right now. Which is perfectly normal, given what you went through, Blaine. Plus, it's good to have someone like Kurt around regardless." She finishes sweetly.

I smile just thinking about him.

I smile just thinking about _us._

"He's perfect." I say automatically, before I cringe. I sound like such a lovesick teenager, my cheeks flushing a blistering red as if to prove the point. Ellen just laughs lightly and says somewhat seriously, "Love suits you, Blaine, and it's a perfectly healthy relationship, so, I certainly approve from a professional standpoint."

"We're not… we're not together yet." I remind her quietly and she nods, still smiling over at me as she talks, "I know that, Blaine, that's why I approve of him, he _understands_ you and what you're going through. He's giving you a lot of support and time. He's not about to rush you into anything- which is so, so important. You need to remember that. Don't push yourself into something you're not ready for." She finishes firmly, exerting her authority.

A silence hangs between us then and I think it's a lot heavier than it was supposed to be. Kurt would never push me into something I wasn't ready for. Kurt would never let me push myself into something I wasn't ready for. He's not that person, he'll _never_ be that guy.

"He would never hit me or hurt me." I say then, my mouth acting without seeking prior permission from my brain, and Ellen stiffens for a second before her face comes back to life.

"Blaine? What makes you say that? Have you ever suspected that he might hit you or hurt you? This is really important." she says, very seriously, the positive mood of the room suffocating under the weight of her questions. It's like she's suddenly very concerned that she's missed something absolutely huge. Like she's terrified that she's just approved someone being in my life and now she's discovered something awful about them. There's a flicker of genuine panic that lingers in her eyes; it's utterly terrifying.

"Of course not. _No_." I say firmly, trying to sound slightly offended, but my voice fails me completely, from the shock of it all, and she's waiting for me to carry on. She's staring at me now with wide pleading eyes; they're begging me to tell her the truth and I do. I have to. I take a deep breath, "I just.. I never imagined that after.. after _everything_. I never thought I'd find someone like him, someone who'd dream of being even half as kind to me as Kurt is. Someone so damn honest and pure and utterly _disgusted_ by everything.. by the things that my father did to me. He helps me remember that it wasn't normal. That it wasn't healthy. That it wasn't _right_… that it wasn't my fault. He'd never hurt me." I finish in a desperate whisper. Tears threatening to build again but I wont cry.

I bite my lip and look up at the ceiling- I heard once that it's almost impossible to cry if you're looking upwards. It seems to work. For the most part. I tighten my grip on the tissue in my hand.

"Blaine. I'm sorry if I upset you." Ellen says immediately, looking incredibly guilty but seeming to relax a little. I just brush it off, "No, it's okay, it's just a sore spot, I guess. Out of everyone Kurt is the only person in the world I'd _never_ be afraid of, you know?" I drag my eyes down until I'm looking at her, "I don't like him been thought of as a monster, not even for a second. He's the only person I'd trust with absolutely _anything_ … he's my best friend. In the whole universe." I finish knowingly, emotionally, and Ellen just nods, her smile finally returning.

"I'm proud of you, Blaine." she says then, "I'm proud of the steps your taking-especially the huge ones that you're not even aware of. Keep treating yourself well, okay? And don't be so hard on yourself. Keep letting Kurt look after you when you need him to and keep talking to Burt. It's okay to need help. There's no shame in it." She implores and this time I nod.

"I know." I promise her and she just looks at me for a while, as if pondering something.

"Are you okay to go home with Mr Hummel now?" she asks, briefly glancing at the tissue in my hand, and I nod, "Yes, yeah, of course. Thank you so much, Ellen, for being a constant, professional, reminder that I'm okay and not _completely_ helpless." It's meant to be light-hearted and, thankfully, it doesn't fall completely flat.

A soft, genuine smile spreading across her features.

"The pleasure is always mine, Blaine. Especially now that you've found that beautiful smile of yours." she says as she stands and walks me to the waiting room, handing me my notebook as she steps beyond her office door, "Keep working hard on this and on everything else, okay? It is paying off and good luck with school. Just be yourself, you're a beautiful, beautiful person."

Ellen and I exchange our final goodbyes then and as I turn, to face the seating area, Burt is already walking over to me. _Of course he is._ My coat and scarf bundled haphazardly in his arms as he strides over to me, somewhat proudly. He's not ashamed of me, he's not ashamed that I have to come here sometimes and that means I'm not ashamed of it either. And I could be ashamed, I know I could. It'd be so easy to be ashamed of needing medical help but I can't feel that way when he doesn't. It's always so nice to see him after I've seen Ellen. It's always lovely to have Burt care so much about me.

"You okay, buddy?" he asks as soon as he's standing in front of me and I nod. Offering him a small smile before I stuff the tissue that's been crushed by my hand for half an hour into my back pocket.

"Yeah, I am. Thank you, Burt." I offer sincerely then and it's the same thing I say every time we leave here but I'm so, so grateful for this; that he scrapes the money together for me every week.

Burt just shakes his head softly at that and says, with a curious expression on his face, "Don't worry about it, kid. You know it's not a problem. Your health is important- both here and here- don't you forget that." He finishes quietly as he points to his head and then his heart.

I offer him a smile then - teeth and all- and I hope that he understands what it means. I hope he understand that it's saying: _You've made such a dent in my life, Burt, and I will never forget this. I will never forget you, or your humility, for as long as I live._

Before I have the opportunity to step towards the door, Burt is thrusting my coat at me, fatherly concern lacing his words, "Put it on, kid, and your scarf. I don't want you getting sick on me. Kurt would be beside himself if you so much as got a cold. You know how he is- he gets it from his mother." Burt laughs lightly and I can't help but smile again too. Buttoning my coat up tightly and wrapping my scarf around my neck - the comforting warmth engulfing me as I sink into the thick woollen fabric.

As soon as we step outside the building I stuff my hands into my pockets and say, with as much confidence as I can muster, "I'm ready to try school."

Burt doesn't say anything for a while, he just lets us walk, our feet falling and rising against the hard concrete, but then, as we turn the corner, he reaches out an always welcomed hand and wraps his arm effortlessly around my shoulders. His quiet _'that's my boy'_ instantly filling my heart with unprecedented joy. I feel like I've just made him proud and that alone makes me feel so damn proud of myself.

o~o~o

The rest of Monday and all of Tuesday bring me nothing new- except the pens, pencils, folders and highlighters that I acquired with Carole on an impromptu shopping trip. We had a lot of fun just being together, Carole and I, and it's really not that hard to understand why Burt fell in love with her. She's such a strong, generous, beautiful woman.

But, anyway, I simply enjoy living my life for a couple of days. I help Burt with his monthly finances, I help Carole make dinner every night, I help Finn practice football in the yard and I help Kurt with his homework. Not that Kurt needs help with his homework but it's nice to feel like he needs me; especially as he makes me explain chemical processes to him- processes that I'm one hundred percent sure he already knows.

It's Wednesday morning when I settle it in my mind- if this is what life has for me, I will gladly take it. It may seem ridiculously bland and routine but after eight years of being beaten in your own home, by a man you thought loved you, bland is good. Routine is excellent.

It's Wednesday evening when Kurt comes home from school and breaks the routine- unshed tears glistening in his eyes and his arms loaded with heavy books. I don't notice at first, not really, because I'm sitting on his bed reading the timetable I have, courtesy of Finn, in preparation for tomorrow. My first day of school. Finn has helpfully scrawled either his own name or Puck's name, or the name of some kid called Mike, under almost all of my classes. All but one- Advanced Art. I'm about to ask Kurt if I should be worried about being alone in Art when I look up and catch him wiping at his eyes. Sniffling discreetly into his sleeve as he shakes head and takes a deep, shuddering breath. He doesn't want me to notice.

"Kurt?" I whisper then and he frowns, straightening himself up and organising the books he's just put on his desk. He ignores me, quite obviously, and I automatically climb to my feet, leaving my new timetable on the pillow as I walk over to him. Uncertainty instantly clouding my mind. He's isn't like him, not anymore.

"Hey, what's going on?" I enquire softly- to which Kurt shakes his head, his hand wrapping briefly around his waist. He wants me to give him space and I would except he's crying and he's shaking and I love him. He wants me to leave him alone but his bottom lip is slipping between his teeth as he sits down and starts flicking through the pages of a book and I just can't walk away from that. I _can't._ It'd break my heart.

"Kurt?" I say somewhat desperately, placing a soft hand on one of his shoulders. He tries to shrug off the gesture and frowns- picking up a pen and drumming it off the table. He's not even looking at the desk anymore, he's looking at the floor. He's trying to distract himself. He's trying to escape his own head. I've seen him do this before.

"Did something happen at school today?" I ask finally, my heart racing as his body stiffens and he shakes his head.

"Of course not." he mutters quietly, his voice riddled with emotion, "It's Dalton Academy, Blaine, zero tolerance on bad behaviour, remember? You don't have to worry about that anymore." he promises shakily but that doesn't stop me from worrying. He's still upset, he's still crying and he's still not telling me why.

"Please, Kurt?" I ask softly, moving to the side of his chair. Crouching down next to him and sitting back on my legs- catching his eyes briefly as I settle but he just looks away. He looks so sad, I haven't seen him like this is a very long time. I hoped I'd never see this again.

"Don't worry about it." Kurt whispers lightly, after a pause, trying to regain control over his feelings, moving to pick up the pen he must have dropped at some point. I reach out and place my hand over his.

"I am worrying, Kurt. You're hurting and you wont tell me why and it's upsetting." I implore, hoping he'll understand, as he gazes back at me with heavy, swollen eyelids. A watery smile plastered on his face but he can barely hold it there. It's less than convincing, the mask he's wearing, I might as well be made of glass.

"I don't want to upset you, Blaine, you have a big day tomorrow." he reasons then and I frown. I don't want him keeping this to himself because of me. I don't want him dealing with this, whatever it is, alone in a misguided attempt to protect me.

"I care about _you_ much more than I care about tomorrow, Kurt." I offer quickly and his smile slips into a grimace. My chest starts to ache.

"It's nothing anyone has done." he promises then and I pull his hand off the table. His fingers twitching under mine before they push upwards and he's holding my hand. I feel like I can connect to him when we're like this.

"What is it?" I ask, my voice betraying me as it wavers, and that's all it takes because his face completely collapses right in front of me.

"Blaine." he whispers then, his tearful eyes gazing at me, "It's my mom's birthday."

"Oh, _Kurt._" I say instantly, because I understand this, I understand exactly how it feels as the birthdays pass you by year after year, I understand the longing and the sense of loss, "You could have told me, Kurt. I could have helped you somehow." I try- the memory of Kurt breaking down in the Lima Bean flooding my head with startling clarity.

It had happened a few short days after our first meeting, as Kurt and I had shared a hazelnut cookie over steaming, polystyrene cups of coffee, and I made the mistake of saying, _'Have you told your mom about what's going on at school?'_ And he'd replied to me, after a pause, with watery eyes and the unexpectedly blunt words, _'I tell her everyday, every single day, but she can't help me.. she's dead.'_

"Blaine, she's dead." Kurt whispers harshly- mirroring my memory- and I cringe before I say sadly, "I know, Kurt. I'm so sorry. I do this too. I get upset. I cry. I wonder what might have been… how different my life might have been if she was around." The words _I wonder if my father would still have hurt me or if he'd have started hurting her too_ never leaving my lips.

"I know it's stupid to be this upset after all of these years. I just miss her so _much_ and today I couldn't help but fall apart, you know? I haven't even spoken to my dad. I don't know what to say to him. He tried to talk to me and I just ran straight past him and came down here. What kind of a son am I? It's his dead wife's birthday, Blaine." He cries then, tears running down his face, and he's looking right at me. I move forward, using my free hand to wipe his tears away, he's heartbroken; I feel sick.

"It's not stupid at all." I say eventually, tears filling my own eyes now, "Kurt, I'd like to hear more about her, if you'd like to talk about it, I mean. I'd like to know more about the woman who left such a huge mark of my best friend."

"_Really_?" He whispers then, swallowing down a sob, his voice little more than a squeak as he looks up at me hopefully. My chest tightens, it's too much, him being like this, him being this unsure of everything; of himself.

"Really." I say and that's all it takes for him to slide down onto the floor and start talking about a woman he wishes was still alive, a soft smile taking possession of his mouth as he remembers her, as he conjures her up in his memories and lets her live again, just for tonight, because a moment longer would be too much for him to handle. So, he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and says, with his damp cheeks still shining under the light, "She was so, so beautiful, Blaine. My dad says she was a real life angel..."

o~o~o

Kurt and I are curled up on his sofa, watching the credits of Moulin Rogue through our tears, our hands pressed firmly together, when we hear a knocking on the bedroom door. We glance over at each other quickly, Kurt wiping harshly at his eyes with his pyjama-top's sleeve as he tries to suppress the mixed emotions of the film's climax and his mother's birthday- so he can answer the door without scaring away whoever it is that stands on the other side. It doesn't really work, though, his eyes are still bright red and he looks doubly exhausted now.

He moves to stand, regardless of the state he's in, but I pull him back onto the sofa, "I'll get it." I say and Kurt offers me the tiniest of smiles before he reaches for the tissues that were wedged between our legs and starts pulling them out of the box.

I move up the stairs as quickly as I can, only pausing to swipe quickly at my eyes, then I reach out and flick the lock on the door. Pulling it open to reveal an equally exhausted Burt. Holding a tray in his hands as he looks past me, for Kurt. When he pulls his eyes back to me he studies my face and frowns.

"Is he okay?" Burt asks, two mugs shuddering on the tray as his hands start to shake a little. I've never seen this side of Burt.

"He's fine." I offer carefully, "We've just watched Moulin Rogue so he's bit upset, and he's still crying, but he's okay." I try to reassure him. Burt just sighs, but he's not annoyed, it's something else, like something incredibly fragile from inside of him is escaping.

"I made these for you boys," he says nodding down at the tray, visibly pulling himself together, "It's warm milk. His mom-Elizabeth- she used to make a mug for him every night and I don't know if he told you but it's her birthday today. I know this, the taste, the warmth, the texture makes him feel a lot better." Burt explains and I feel overwhelmed.

"Yeah, he told me." I say softly before I look back over my shoulder, "Do you want to bring it down to him? I think he'd really like to talk to you, Burt, but I think he's scared it'll hurt you."

"I don't want to upset him, son. He ran straight past me earlier. Not even a glance." Burt says and I nod- one of my hands rising to wrap around a bicep.

"Then he came down here," I offer earnestly, "And he cried his heart out, Burt. More than anything, I think he just misses him mom and he's so worried that he'll upset you by being so upset himself." I look at him then and I can tell he's processing everything I've just said and what it all actually means in terms of Kurt.

"I'm coming down." He says decisively, after a beat, and I nod.

"Do you want me to stay up here?" I ask then, allowing him space to talk to his son alone; it doesn't take long for the reply.

"No, you're a part of this family now. You can stay here if you need to but you're more than welcome to follow me down." I nod my head, there isn't even a doubt in my mind. I'm following him down. I let him past me and I lock the door behind us, the click resonating off the walls, Burt doesn't stop, doesn't say a word, he just carries on.

Kurt is sat on the sofa with his knees pulled up under his chin, his face hidden by an arm, surrounded by discarded tissues as his shoulders shake softly. Even when he's heartbroken he manages to look beautiful. Burt walks over to the table in front of the sofa and puts the tray down, glancing at Kurt with an understanding expression before he lifts one of the mugs and moves to sit next to his son. I sit on the arm of the chair- on the opposite side of Kurt- and watch intently as Burt reaches out a hand and fearlessly places it on his son's shoulders. Kurt freezes, just for a second, and then his whole body is shuddering.

"_Kurt_." Burt says, like he just wants to let him know that he's there, "I know, son."

Kurt cries and cries and cries until Burt moves one of his son's arms from his face and whispers, "Do you want your milk before it gets cold?" Kurt looks over then and stares at his dad for a while before he nods and forces himself to sit up properly. His legs falling down as he wipes his eyes and takes the milk from Burt. His hands wrapping around the mug, soaking in the warmth as a whimper escapes him.

"Drink it up." Burt says before he looks over at me and says, "You too. We could all do with a pick-me-up." I nod and reach out, taking the warm mug from the tray and wrapping my fingers around it.

Kurt shuffles over and rests his head on his dad's shoulder then, only moving when he wants to take a sip. I'm content just watching the unspoken words fly between them both, amongst all of the love, but that doesn't satisfy Kurt.

Kurt wedges his mug between his thighs, momentarily, and reaches out a hand - pulling me off the arm of the chair and onto the sofa. I land mere centimetres away from him. He smiles a little- as I struggle to keep the remainder of my warm milk in the mug- and then he puts his hand on my leg.

It's a beautiful gesture, a gesture he doesn't _need_ to make but he does anyway. And, as he leans back on his dad's shoulder, he's telling me that he knows I'm always there for him and that he's grateful and I have _never_ understood what being a family truly means- not as much as I do in this moment.

I belong here. I move my hand to cover his.

o~o~o

Burt is still with us when Kurt falls asleep- his hand still in mine and his head still on Burt's shoulder. It's not awkward, it's not uncomfortable, it's just beautiful.

"I'll carry him to bed." Burt says eventually, after a period of soft silence, and I nod before a thought crosses my mind; before worry etches itself on my face.

"Your heart, Burt. I should carry him." I say but he just laughs lightly.

"I can manage a few feet, buddy. Plus, he's taller than you, you'd hurt yourself. I'm not risking that." He whispers half seriously.

"Are you sure?" I ask then and he just nods before he stands and somehow manoeuvres a sleeping Kurt all at once. Lifting his son like it's absolutely nothing and I can't help but wonder how many times he's done this. How many times Burt's carried his exhausted, sleeping son to his bed.

I follow them over and pull the covers back for Burt, watching as he lays Kurt down on the bed and tucks the covers tightly around him. Stooping down to brush stray strands of hair from his son's face before he lays a soft kiss on his forehead, "She's so proud of you, Kurt." he whispers and then he turns to look at me.

There's a delicate smile on his face and I can tell he's thinking of her. He's thinking about Elizabeth, his beautiful wife who, like a real life angel, was taken away from the world much too soon.

Burt has Carole now and Kurt has me but they still miss her sometimes and that's okay.

"You want me to tuck you in too?" Burt asks then, without hesitation, and I smile back at him.

"I need to lock the door." I offer regretfully and he shakes his head.

"Kurt's mom will be here, you don't have to worry about that, not tonight, son." he says softly and my eyes start to fill again.

"I'd like that." I whisper honestly and he nods. Watching as I climb into bed before he moves around carefully to my side of the bed.

He lets me settle into the pillows that surround my head before he tucks me in and kisses his fingertips- pressing them softly against my forehead as he says, with a caring smile, " Sweet dreams. I'll see you in the morning, buddy."

o~o~o


	21. Chapter 21

o~o~o

I spend the entire night dreaming safely and when I do open my eyes - and I actually realise what's happening - a soft heat instantly floods throughout my body. Beginning at the hot, cherry blush of my cheeks and gushing downwards, towards the tips of my already warm toes. I have been woken up before, don't get me wrong, and more often than not in a not so pleasant way, but I've never been woken up like _this_. I've never fluttered so peacefully into consciousness to find several supple fingertips ghosting over my face, nor have I had a delicate palm cupping so tenderly at my neck- in a bid to usher me safely back into the waking world. I've never woken up so serenely or fallen so profoundly into a pair of beautiful almond eyes - Kurt's gorgeous, heart stopping eyes - and for a moment I forget everything. All of it. This affection, this purely delicate, intimate moment, is all I need to get by. This is everything I need to be okay again and it makes me feel so unashamedly exultant. One day soon, when I'm entirely ready, I know that those lips - those perfect, smiling, velveteen lips - that are beaming so warmly at me right now - will press against mine and spark my new life into existence.

"Good morning, sunshine." Kurt whispers mellifluously at me, as my eyes try to focus on his face, he's sitting cross-legged on the floor, right next to the bed, his bright eyes searching mine thoroughly, for something unspoken, before he leans forward with complete ease and explicitly presses a lingering kiss, packed with love, into the unbridled mass of dark, untamed curls that make up my morning hair. I can feel my heart flutter in my chest.

"Morning." I smile back sincerely at him, through my still sleep-filled eyes, and he pulls away from my slowly, repositioning himself on the carpet, one of his unwavering hands staying in it's place; resting carefully on my neck and I'm sure he must be able to feel the shift in my heart rate.

"God, Blaine." He gasps softly, his eyes darkening dramatically as his pupils expand, "You look so beautiful right now." Kurt finishes automatically and at that my body instinctively tenses. There's pure want written all over his face and I suddenly remember my fears in that changing room the other day; I quickly dredge up the memory of being so worried that no one would ever look at me in _that way_ - in the precise way Kurt is looking at me right now.

I watch him with shock and interest as his face shifts into something that looks a lot like regret and he bites down shyly on his bottom lip, this is without a doubt a reaction to my reaction, and then, almost as quickly as his face changed, he's talking again, "Blaine. Am I allowed to say that? I mean, I know we're not- we're not, _you know_, we're not together yet.. but it's still.. It's still true. Is that okay? If I'm coming on a little strong here you can tell me. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, or anything bad for that matter. I _know_ you're not ready for more. W-what I'm trying to say is: if it isn't okay to say stuff like that, you can tell me to stop." He rambles aimlessly, his eyes growing increasingly wider with every passing word and his cheeks are starting to glow a brittle, blushing pink but he doesn't even attempt to pull away from me, he doesn't try to create space between us, and I think I love Kurt for that.

"Kurt, just stop. Of course it's okay." I reassure him quickly, my hand reaching out to touch his arm- the arm that's lying idly on the mattress next to me, our faces still mere inches apart, "You _will_ be my boyfriend, Kurt. My first and only boyfriend." I feel the need to point out and it earns me a small smile, "It was just a bit of a shock, that's all."

"Well, it _shouldn't_ be a shock." Kurt says just quickly, his voice still quiet but he's clearly harbouring a new sense of confidence as the blush fades from his face, "You're gorgeous, Blaine Anderson."

"Kurt-" I start in protest as my cheeks begin to flush violently; it's like the tinge from his own cheeks has gushed through his arm, down into my neck and up onto my face. My cheeks burning and shifting from what imagine to be a soft cherry into a deep fiery scarlet. I'm not used to this kind of attention. I'm very used to Kurt telling me he loves me and that I'm perfect and that I'm a beautiful person but this is decidedly _different_. Something has shifted between us since Kurt promised to wait for me and since last night - when he shared those beautiful stories with me about his mom - it's something powerful, the change, and maybe it's a little overwhelming but I'm not afraid of it. I'm not afraid at all. It's something completely new and it's utterly exhilarating.

"I'm sorry," he confesses lightly, his eyes lingering on my cheeks as his irises shrink once more, "It's probably a little bit early for flirting. Plus, it's time for you to get up, sleepyhead. You have school today and I want to see you up and about before I have to leave." He explains, his familiar eyes still on me as he runs his thumb over the sensitive skin of my neck and then pulls his hand away altogether.

His freed hands automatically move to straighten his tie. Kurt's already dressed for school. His Dalton blazer squaring his shoulders off remarkably and framing his broadening chest flawlessly. It's very distracting, looking at Kurt, watching his fingers as they move, it's distracting enough for me to fight off my growing anxiety, anyway.

"I'm going up to make breakfast now; before Finn tries to feed himself and burns all of the pans. I'll meet you upstairs, okay? When you're ready, sweetheart." He finishes, reaching out to grab one of my hands, lifting it too his face without hesitation and leaving a gentle kiss on my knuckles - like he had the day we sat thigh to thigh and promised to be each other's future boyfriend. With that, Kurt stands, offers me a heart warming smile and heads towards the stairs. I don't think today could have started any better. In fact, I think this could be the greatest start to a day _ever._

o~o~o

I'm on my knees, in front of the chest of drawers that Kurt has kindly let me share with him - each draw has been carefully split in two, his items on the left, mine on the right, to underline our equality in this house, Kurt had told me- and I'm rifling through all of the shirts that I possess - because of the kindness of Burt and Kurt - with tremendously anxious, jittering hands. I clearly can't do this, not properly, I just feel like slamming this stupid drawer shut, storming over to the bed that I've just spent ten minutes making, burying myself deep under the covers, clinging to Kurt's pillow, breathing him in and then crying my heart out.

I don't know what to pick out for the best - I don't know if I should wear a polo shirt or a button-down. I don't know what colour to pick. I have no idea what jeans I should wear- blue or black. I don't know if I should wear a cardigan (or which shade of red it should be). Maybe I shouldn't wear a cardigan at all, though; maybe I should just wear my coat instead. I don't know if I should dress like I usually would or whether I need to make an effort to tone myself down a bit. God, I really don't know what I'm doing here and right now I just feel really, really sick. It's not that I need Kurt to help me pick every single outfit I wear, it's that I don't know what I'm supposed to be at McKinley.

I need my blazer back.

That uniform was so much more than an extravagant dress code meant to make us all look like private school boys, it meant so much _more_ to me as a person. It was a foolproof way for me to hide myself away while also allowing me to blend in perfectly. It was a way for me to survive - it stood for unity and safety and the hope of being okay and without it, without the option, I feel utterly lost. I feel like I'm stumbling around in the dark and I'm falling over ever single bump on the way. Like one of those stupid women in one of those stupid horror movies.

What if I get this drastically wrong? What if I wear something and because of that people tear me to shreds? I'm not as strong as Kurt is, I can't handle that, not right now. I still have too much going on inside my head. The last thing I need is for my clothes to give them a reason to start on me. William McKinley isn't like Dalton Academy - it's not safe and as far as I can tell there's not a single anti-bullying policy in place. To a boy who's been bullied his whole life, in one way or another, that is an absolutely horrible, heart-stopping situation to put yourself in. In fact, I can feel my heart sinking as I try to cling to the feeling of Kurt's fingers against my skin but even_ that _can't truly stop the dark cloud that's forming in my mind. I suddenly feel ridiculously stupid for even agreeing to do this.

I let my head fall into my hands, the knees of my pyjama bottoms pressed tightly against the carpet, burning as I shift a little and a heavy sigh shudders out of my body. What am I doing? Am I just going to sit here all day? Until someone comes down here to find me? Didn't I tell Ellen I needed to do this? For me? What am I so afraid of, really? I mean, sure, I seem to have a punch me sign hanging over my head but I've also gained two friends who are willing to follow me around all day, everyday and protect me. I have _friends _who believe in me. That's what we are now, they're my friends.

_Blaine, you can do this. _I tell myself, pulling my hands away from my face harshly and taking a series of deep, rolling breaths as my hands sit at my hips. Controlling my breathing like this always helps me calm down and it doesn't let me down this time. I'm grateful for that, at least.

I give myself a moment before I reach back into the drawer and pull out a red plaid shirt - that I know Kurt is fond of - my black jeans - that hug me in all of the right places - and my underwear. I need to stop thinking so damn hard. They're just clothes, I remind myself, it's not the end of the world. Fashion is subjective. Style is individual.

I walk over to Kurt's closet, with a thin bravado that I seem to have pulled from somewhere, and pull out the cardigan Kurt and I bought at the mall the other day before I head to the bathroom to get dressed. Hoping I can hold myself together, at least enough to get me upstairs so I can eat with my friends, and my family, before my first day back at school. I'm not looking forward to walking down those hallways today and the butterflies that wont stop fluttering in the pit of my stomach agree but I'm going to try. Sometimes, trying is all you can do; I'm willing to give it a shot. 

o~o~o

"You'll be fine." Kurt says, his sudden presence making me jump, I didn't hear him coming down the stairs. There's an understanding smile resting comfortably on his face as he steps into his small bathroom, closes the door behind himself, shuffles in behind me and whispers, in an exceptionally gentle tone, "Sweetheart, stop panicking."

I watch him through the mirror then, as I try - once again - to complete the fruitless task of flattening my consistently unruly hair. I've been working on this for well over ten minutes and it never takes long for hair I've flattened to spring up again, mocking me.

Another patch of hair bounces up and an agitated sigh escapes me, I'm getting increasingly desperate when I catch Kurt's eye in the mirror. I drag my gaze away from his concerned eyes shamefully, this shouldn't be getting the better of me but today it is, and throw the comb that I've been clutching in a vice grip into the sink with a vicious clatter. My own frustration and nervousness eating away at me; twisting deep inside of me and leaving me with a nasty, bitter feeling.

I look down at the discarded comb in the sink and I stare at it until something inside of me just _snaps._

"Why wont it stay down? I hate my _stupid _hair!" I shout abruptly and Kurt instantly has his careful hands on my hips, his physical presence as soft and reassuring as it usually is, as he says,"Your hair is perfect. Stop freaking out, just for five minutes, Blaine."

"They're going to hate me." I mutter then, in reply, and I can feel my face contorting, Kurt's reflection just shakes his head once and then, from behind me, his voice comes, hushed but formidable, "No, they wont."

"Kurt, we both _know_ Karofsky's going to hate me." I remind him bitterly and I watch then as his reflection shrugs from behind me, "He's one guy, stop worrying."

"He has friends." I impart logically, putting my palms on the cold porcelain of the sink, letting it take some of my weight. My shoulders sag. Kurt's focused hands follow the change of my body and move to my waist, his thumbs automatically rubbing soft, soothing circles into my sides.

"You have friends too." Kurt reminds me gently and I can't look at him now, I don't want to cry, "You have Puck and Finn and Mike."

"I don't even know who Mike_ is_." I say defensively and when I eventually do look up Kurt is smiling fondly, "He's on your side, Blaine, he got into a lot of trouble with the Principal for trying to help me out."

"Kurt, I can't do this." I say quietly and my voice breaking just seems like a spiteful reflection of my confidence shattering.

I straightening myself up and pick the comb back up. It's plastic teeth digging harshly into my palm as I squeeze it.

"You _can_ do this." Kurt says then, leaning forwards so that his head is resting on my shoulder and it looks so perfect there, "You can do whatever you want to do, Blaine. I believe in you- you should believe in yourself a little more."

I let a conflicted sigh fall out of my body.

"I _can't_, though, I can't even flatten my own hair, Kurt, why did I think I could handle this? I'm such an idiot. I'm _such_ an idiot." I mutter repetitively and Kurt's fingers push against my skin a little. It doesn't hurt, it just ensures that I'm looking at him, or at least his reflection, for what he says next.

"You're _not_ stupid, do you hear me? Now stop making it worse. Your hair is fine the way it is. I wouldn't lie to you about that and you _can_ handle this." I sigh then and search the reflection of his eyes before I whisper almost inaudibly, "I know. I know."

"Just try to relax. I know why you're so scared, Blaine, I know a lot is changing but you're going to be fine. Okay?" Kurt says calmly, the soft hum of his words sending a shiver down my spine. His head is still on my shoulder and every low word he breathes against my neck is making me shudder. It takes a moment for me to focus again.

"No." I say then "Kurt, I _can't_ do this." I repeat and something changes in the reflexion of his face then. Something very important. Though, I can't quite put my finger on it. He stands a little straighter, his head moving away, and I can't take my eyes off him now.

"Blaine, sweetheart, you keep saying that.. so, you need to tell me, right now, if you're being serious because if you really don't want to do this today it's okay. It's not a problem; we can try another day. There's always tomorrow." Kurt promises and a soft moan escapes my lips because he's being so damn perfect again.

"No. Kurt." I start decidedly, "I _am_ going. I'm just nervous, that's all. I'm sorry. God, you have no idea how long it took me to get dressed earlier." I confess carefully and he nods, "You look perfect, Blaine, so don't start worrying about that. And I know what it's like to look at yourself in a mirror and start pouring questions on yourself- questions that you can't possibly answer but you don't have to do that. You don't have change yourself or fix anything. Nothing is broken, okay? Now, give me that comb, go upstairs and eat something. You're going to school today, Blaine Anderson, and they're going to _love_ you. And if some people don't love you that's their loss, not yours, it's _theirs_." I spin on the balls of my feet then, to look at him properly and give him the comb I'm holding, but when he touches it I don't release it automatically, I let the plastic connect us for a while and when I finally do let my hand drop away Kurt smiles at me brightly and reaches a soft hand out to touch my shoulder, "Everything's going to be okay and say it's not, due to some catastrophic unforeseen situation, you'll still have me, Blaine, we'll still have us and no one can touch that. No one." 

o~o~o

Breakfast is the perfect blend of domestic chaos and domestic bliss that it usually is. Finn is talking animatedly to Puck, his hands waving everywhere - almost knocking his orange juice over at least twice as Kurt and I cringe from across the table, our fingers occasionally twitching just in case we have to reach out and stop the glass from toppling over and it's contents spilling everywhere- but Finn doesn't even seem to notice, not with a mouth full of bacon and a smattering of ketchup on his chin. Puck is laughing back at his best friend, sharing comfortable nudges with him and eating with as much fervour, though, he's nowhere near the level of clumsiness that Finn has mastered.

Puck glances over at me occasionally, with eyes full of kindness and the sincerity in his face has me smiling back at him without thought. Kurt is sitting right next to me, our knees touching under the table, and he's constantly moving between reading his history textbook, looking at me and watching Finn's arms swing around as he cuts into the last of his healthy heart pancakes and slides the pieces carefully off his fork and into his mouth. I'm eating the last of mine when Burt walks in, dressed for work and heading straight to the coffee machine, he wishes us good morning as removes the full jug from the machine.

"You boys looks out for Blaine on his first day, do you hear me?" Burt says suddenly, as he fills a thermos and screws the caps on tightly, glancing back over his shoulder, at the table, where Finn and Puck have spun around in their chairs to look right at him as they both nod in unison. Kurt has stopped reading to look at his dad too.

"Yes, sir. You don't have to worry about that, Mr. H." Puck says astonishingly genuinely and Finn continues to nod his head in agreement.

"Alright and Puck if you need me to go to that parent-teacher thing that you guys have coming up, I can, okay? If your mom is busy with your sister, you've got me." Even from behind, I can tell that Puck's eyes widen as he stares at Burt. His body seeming to freeze.

"_Really?_" he says unusually quietly and Burt nods once, "Really, so you better start handing in your homework, young man. I will not have any of my boys falling behind, do you understand what I'm getting at here?"

"Yes, Mr H." Puck says, a smile evident in his voice, and as he turns back to his plate I notice that his eyes are practically sparkling. Finn spins around too and nudges Puck in the arm before they start eating and laughing again. Kurt and I largely ignored by them once more.

I watch as Burt walks past Kurt then and lays a soft hand on his shoulder, "You feeling better today, buddy?" he asks quietly and Kurt smiles up at his dad, "Much better and thank you, dad, for last night. I could tell you tucked me in." Burt laughs lightly and shrugs it off, like it's nothing, and I'm amazed that I'm the only one watching this heart-swelling exchange between father and son but Puck and Finn are just too busy talking to each other to notice the tender moment unfolding before them.

"If you ever need to talk about your mom or anything you can always call me, okay? Anytime, Kurt." Burt urges and Kurt smiles, "I know, dad."

"And you," Burt starts softly, glancing over at me, his eyes searching my face quickly, "Don't forget that you can do the same thing." I nod and watch Burt manoeuvres himself around the table, behind Kurt, stopping briefly on his way out to hold his hand my shoulder.

"He means that." Kurt says when his dad is gone. I watch as he wedges a bookmark into his textbook and then closes it altogether, stuffing the book into the bag that rests at his feet and then looking over at me, "You really can call him, or you can call me. If you need to talk about anything today, Blaine - thoughts, feelings, how crazy Brittany is, I'm around." Kurt finishes with a smile and I grin back at him.

"Brittany seems nice." I say conversationally and he nods, "Oh, she is. She's an absolute sweetie. But you've only met her twice, in passing, wait until you get to know her. She's surprisingly intelligent, I mean, sure, she rarely passes a school test but she always knows when you need a hug or a smile and sometimes that's all that matters, you know?" We share a silent moment then before Kurt lays his hand on top of mine and says, "Listen, Blaine, I have to go now. Just- just remember that you're perfect, okay?" He asks earnestly, before he strokes a thumb lightly over my fingers and then pulls his hand away completely, reaching it down instead to pull his bag up off the floor and over his shoulder.

"I'll see you later." I say then and Kurt nods, "You can tell me everything when I get home."

Kurt slips behind me, presses a soft hand against my back and then vanishes out of the door. My eyes follow him unconsciously and I find myself staring at the entrance of the kitchen until I hear the front door close. It's then, when I turn back, that I notice that both Finn and Puck are staring at me knowingly. Little glints of happiness dancing in their eyes with something that looks a lot like acceptance and - rather unexpectedly- _encouragement. _

After that they both purposely involve me in their conversation but it isn't hard and it isn't forced. Finn even finds a moment to look at me and say, "Dude, that cardigan rocks."

I just smile into my hand and listen to them talk enthusiastically about college football. 

o~o~o

By half eight we're at McKinley, in Finn's car, in the student car park, and I'm absolutely terrified. I must look ridiculously awful right now because I could literally feel the colour drain from my face as I looked at the school's entrance earlier and now I'm almost certain that I could actually be physically sick. Finn's standing outside of his own vehicle, so Puck can give me a well needed, last minute pep talk. He's sitting on the back seat, right next to me, and his face is incredibly sincere. I've never seen as much sincerity pour out of someone as I have out of Puck today.

"So, just come to me, okay?" He reminds me, for the fifth time since we've been alone, "If someone says or tries _anything,_ I'll handle it for you. I promise, Blaine, they wont want to come near you again by the time I'm done. And if any of those assholes try to blackmail you, or whatever, telling you you've got nothing to back yourself up with they're talking crap." Puck finishes lowly, fiercely, and my heart starts to thud. He's being so protective, right now.

"Please, don't start fights for me, Puck. I can't…" I whisper nervously, my eyes fixed on spot just over Puck's shoulder, he nods instantly in understanding and I don't have to finish that sentence with_ 'the thought of someone I care about getting hurt, in a fight, because of me, it just hurts too much.'_ for him to understand because he's just like me. How tragic is that, when you really think about it? There's at least two people attending McKinley whose father's turned out to be monsters. I can't help but wonder how many more there are because, statistically, I'm sure they exist and that makes my heart sink.

I can feel my own face fall.

"Look, Blaine, if you feel like you need a break today, or if you just need to stand outside with a friend for a while, just text me and I'll come out too. I mean, I have to hand in my homework now, for Mr. H, but you're my friend and friends come first, alright?" He says and I nod because I can do that - it wouldn't be the first time I'd called Puck in a moment of pure desperation, would it?

"Going to a new school is hard enough, for anyone, but you're still dealing with your father's bullshit and it's okay to feel overwhelmed. I understand how you feel when it seems like the whole world has screwed you over but one thing that will _not_ screw you over is this damn school. I fucking promise you that and I have never, _ever_, lied to you." He says firmly and I nod because it's true. He's never let me down. Not once.

"You're bigger than this stupid place, Blaine, and I'll make sure you get the qualifications you need to escape this backwards town. Maybe I'm meant to be a Lima Loser my whole life, maybe I'm not, that hasn't been determined yet but you're like Princess… you have this spark in you, this fight, like you're gonna take the whole world by storm one day and you deserve to break free." Puck finished honestly, his eyes shining with reassurance as mine shine with tears and I want to grab his hand and tell him that he's _not _a Lima Loser, no way, but I don't get the chance to because Finn knocks on the window and points over at a boy who's heading straight towards us.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to Mike." Puck says then, patting my leg twice and climbing out of the car, I follow suit and by the time I'm standing next to Finn and Puck, Mike is in front of us all.

"Hey, man." Finn says and Mike grins in reply and blurts, "Morning, Finn! Morning, guys!"

It would seem that Mike is infectiously cheerful.

Puck raises an arm then and says, "Blaine, this is Mike Chang. Mike, this is my bro, Blaine Anderson." Mike nods once and automatically offers me his hand. He has manners, I think, before I wonder if he always greets new people like this or if he's just being this kind because I'm Kurt's friend and they've roped him into looking out for me. No one seems confused by his actions, though, so I guess it's just the way he is.

"Hi." I mutter as I reach out to shake Mike's hand.

"Hey, Blaine, it's an absolute pleasure to finally meet you." he says and my cheeks start to flush.

"Look," I start apologetically, "I don't want to cause you any trouble or anything. I'm sure you have better things to spend your time on."

"No," Mike says quickly, as his eyes widen, "No, no, it's cool. A friend of Kurt's is a friend of mine. Plus, these two boys tell me that you're pretty awesome. Do you sing?" He asks then, somewhat unexpectedly, and I nod my head.

"Yeah and I also love to play the piano." I offer, surprising even myself, and Mike grins. Puck chooses that moment to offer me a proud smile and my heart swells. I'm making a new friend.

"That's so cool. Do you play football at all?" Mike asks then, genuinely interested, and they're all looking at me now. Waiting for an answer.

"I practise with Finn in the yard sometimes. And I- I used to play a lot, when I was little, it was a horribly misguided attempt at impressing my father." I finish quietly and I notice Puck's hand twitch a little, his smile faltering when I glance at him. Something that looks a lot like hurt lingering in his eyes.

"Hey, no worries, man. It's something you never really forget. If you want to join the team I'll gladly run by a few things with you before you try out." Mike offers with a truthful smile and I have to smile back at that because he barely knows me and he's offering to give up his time to help me. Maybe it's not so hard, making friends, maybe I've just never met anyone who wanted to get to know me.

"Thanks." I say, before I add an automatic afterthought, "I'm not sure they'd want me on the team, though." Puck reaches over then and effortlessly links his arm through mine and I really wish I'd never opened my mouth. It's like he's reminding me that I don't have to worry about my sexuality and that it doesn't change anything, like he did the last time he had his arm through mine. Puck's words run through my head then- _It doesn't make you less of a person, less of a man. _- even though we must both know that it obviously _does_ matter to the jocks who chased Kurt out of this place.

"Hey." Puck starts, swaying into me softly; making me look over at him, "Do what you want to, okay? Not what those bigoted assholes _tell_ you you're doing."

"Yeah. I know. I know." I say and the smile slowly returns to his face, "Good. You have English first, right?"

"Yeah." I say and Puck smirks, "Well, apparently you're really clever because you're in Mike's English class and he get's A's in everything." He shoots Mike a smile and Mike laughs, "That's because I actually do the work."

"Oh, look, Britt's here!" Puck says suddenly before he starts calling her over. His arm untangling from mine so he can wave at her with both arms, like he's waving in a plane, like she might not have noticed us standing in an otherwise empty car park. As soon as she sees us, though, she runs over, arms loaded with pink folders; her cheerleading skirt bouncing as she moves. She's beautiful - the kind of girl most boys would call perfect.

"Hey, guys!" She says cheerfully before her eyes lock on me, a relative stranger, and she tilts her head, "You're Kurt's special friend, right?" I smile at that, Kurt warned me about her lack of filter.

"Yeah, my name's Blaine Anderson." I say, offering her my hand, like Mike had offered his, but she just shakes her head. I pull my hand back like it's on fire and I'm about to move my gaze to the floor when her light, childish laugh cuts through the air. Dragging my attention back to her face.

"Handshakes are for mom's and dad's, right? I'm not anybodies mom or dad. But do you like hugs?" She asks then and I look at her for a while before I nod my head and say, "Yeah, I do." Because it's true and how much damage can this girl really do?

"Can you hold these?" Brittany says, already handing her folders over to Puck who takes them without question. Then she has her arms around me and I can feel her smiling against my neck. Never in my life has a girl hugged me. Women have hugged me occasionally, women like Carole, but never a _girl_. This is something completely new and she's so soft, just like Kurt.

"You smell like him." She whispers then and it's so easy to get caught up in her playful nature that I can't help but whisper back, "Who?"

"Kurt, silly. You both smell delicious." she says then and I can't stop myself from breathing her in too.

"Well, you smell like fresh flowers." I offer quietly and she nods, "Santana bought it for me, do you like it?" she asks then and I can feel her cheek moving against my neck.

"Yeah, it really suits you." I offer honestly and when she pulls back she spins a lock of her long, golden hair around her finger and says, "I like you a lot, Blaine Anderson."

"I like you a lot too." I reply truthfully, returning the sentiment, and she smiles a wide, toothy smile that almost completely takes my breathe away, "You're not afraid to hug me back and I can tell you like it. So, we can be friends now, if you want to."

"Yeah." I say, "I'd like that, Brittany." She nods enthusiastically, spins swiftly to take her folders off Puck and then she walks away without even saying goodbye or looking back.

"She must love you, she doesn't like many people, not _that_ quickly." Finn says and then we all start walking towards the intimidating building and I can't help but feel a little better about everything. I've made two new friends in less than ten minutes and before Kurt came along I hadn't had a single one. And now, walking into a strange, thoroughly unfamiliar building - with it's unfamiliar rules and it's unfamiliar students - isn't quite as scary as it was.

I may not have a uniform to hide behind now but I have something else, something better, something much greater, now I have people who actually _care_ about me, all of me, and that feeling, that great feeling, well, I think that beats a lousy blazer any day. 

o~o~o

But by the end of English that great feeling is gone.

By the end of English, all hope has vanished.

By the end of English, I know that they hate me.

And I know that Mike can't stop this, even though he tries to, so damn hard.

There's just too many of them.

They just hate that new kid, that kid who dresses like a fucking faggot.

That kid who's come to spread his faggy fairy dust.

Hey, Karofsky, this new kid, he makes Hummel look like a real man, huh?

Yeah, man, we should teach him.

And all I can think, as tears run down my face, is:

What could you possibly teach me that my father hasn't already tried to?

_What?_

o~o~o


	22. Chapter 22

o~o~o

I wipe the back of a tremulous hand over my wet cheeks, gathering the miserable tears that I hadn't meant to let fall under my fingers; then I scoop them away from my face like a snow-plough. I move and trace my shuddering fingertips over damp, matted eyelashes and it's while I'm doing this, as I'm trying to wipe away my sadness, that I realise my chest is full to the brim with a bitter combination of disappointment and wretchedness. It wasn't supposed to be like this, not really, coming to school was never supposed to hurt like this, or make my insides feel so damn heavy.

I think I made my first mistake when I actually started to believe that it could be okay for me here, but now I see that I was wrong about that - very wrong. In fact, now that I'm really thinking about it, I don't know how I could have been so blatantly stupid; or brainless enough to imagine that the people here wouldn't hate me for being myself - even a filtered version of myself - or that they'd somehow be indifferent towards me. I mean, my own father hated me, didn't he? He probably _still_ hates me, and if he couldn't love me, or even grow to like me, how could I have expected these people, these complete strangers, to welcome me or at least let me get on with my life? I feel like such a misguided fool.

I know that this isn't right - it isn't right that I feel this way, or that the people sitting behind me right now are making me feel so uncomfortable, but this _is_ the way it is - though, recognising it doesn't make it hurt any less. And it does hurt. It hurts _so_ much right now but I think what hurts the most is the fact that I had so many high hopes pinned on this working out for me. I have so many milestones waiting for me to reach and this, this school being okay, would have made it all so much easier for me. But, clearly, it wasn't meant to be because even though they're not whispering hateful things at me right now, or shooting bits of spit covered paper into my hair, I can still hear them talking heatedly about me, about _Kurt,_ and that just breaks my heart. That is what hurts me the most.

Listening to them talk about Kurt like that, like he's _nothing_ - like they wouldn't even _piss_ on him if he was on fire - wounds me in a way I hadn't quite anticipated but I know why it stings so much; it stings because Kurt is absolutely everything to me. _Everything_. But it's like his whole existence is one big practical joke here - like he's a colossal punch line relayed repetitively to a gathering mob of narrow-minded diehards to trigger their automatic applause, their mechanical laughter and their systematic standing ovation. And it makes me _sick_, all of it; it makes me feel so overwhelmingly _sad_. I just don't understand how they can remain so consistently blind to the unbridled beauty that just bursts out of Kurt, or why they can't recognise that he's a wonderful, generous human being who's filled with so much passion and love and humility. Perhaps it's because there's not an ounce of humility in them - I'm not sure and I don't pretend to know what they're thinking, because I don't - but these people, these jocks, seem so blinded by their own hate and by their dangerous detestation for everything that challenges their set-in-stone ideals, that I almost pity them.

I take another moment then, to wipe gently at my eyes - as I feel more lost, lukewarm tears slipping down the gentle curves of my cheeks. Purposefully keeping my movements as discrete as I physically can as I push them away - in the vague hope that my tormentors might remain oblivious to the obvious upset they're causing me - but that doesn't work, not this time. It's less than a second after I've pulled my hand down that I begin to hear their expectant and excited whispering - their fires seemingly lit anew - and I genuinely begin to wonder how they can take so much noticeable pleasure in doing this to me; in hurting me in the way that they are.

"Aww, guys, look at him!" A boy from behind me laughs carelessly, "He's _actually_ crying." I can feel my face scrunching up then - as a new storm of humiliation starts to whirl around inside of my chest and I need them to stop doing this to me, I really, really do. Even though they don't quite understand what's at stake here I need them to find a shred of human decency and _stop_. Though, when has my wanting people to stop hurting me actually mattered? It hasn't.

"He's just like Hummel." Another boy continues coldly and more than a little unpleasantly, "Oh, man, did he _love_ to cry. What an attention seeking little bitch that faggot was." He spits nastily, his hate filled words sinking in as I press my fingertips harshly into my thighs and my vision starts to blur. I just need them to leave me alone.

"I bet our newest speck of fairy dust is ass-fucking that girly faggot." Someone else reasons unkindly and _that_ stings me, in fact, that hurts me so badly that my breath catches clumsily on it's way out of my body and an desperate hitched noise tumbles out past my lips. But even that heart pounding demonstration of pain isn't enough to stop them, nothing seems to stop them, not now, not now that they're enjoying this so much; not now they've realised that they can make me feel so powerless; so easily.

"Ha! And Hummel would be like, 'Oh, p-please, B-blaine, it h-hurts too much! Your little dick is just t-too _much_ for my t-tight l-little ass!'" Another boy mocks cruelly and the tears begin to slip down my face again in quick succession. One after another, after another, after another. My fingernails digging harshly into the flesh of my palms as my bent wrist push awkwardly against the denim of my jeans. They shouldn't be saying that, they shouldn't be mocking us in that way, it's wrong. Shit, this whole thing is so wrong but now all I can think about is Kurt hurting _in that way_ and it makes me absolutely sick to my stomach. It would never, _never_, do that to him. I love Kurt. I love him. My head sinks forward, as I struggle to control my emotions, my teeth biting down at my bottom lip painfully, though, there just isn't enough pain in the world to make the bad feeling that I now have in my heart go away.

_Just breathe_. I have to remind myself.

"It's fucking _disgusting_!" A boy snarls viciously then and I flinch.

"I mean, you _shit_ out of that hole." Another growls maliciously and I can feel my fingernails breaking the skin of my palms now. I can feel the skin give under the pressure and it's almost a relief. I wipe the back of one of my hands across my eyes and I let my shoulders shake. I just can't stop it anymore.

"Those fucking perverts deserve everything they get!" Someone declares then and every single word sounds so full of conviction that my eyes fly wide open as my lips fall apart and a gasp escapes me. It happens again, only seconds later, when another voice says, "Every fucking beating. That have it coming."

_They don't know. _I have to remind myself quickly, _They don't know what your father did to you. _

"It's fucking filthy, huh, Karofsky?" A boy asks searchingly and I suddenly realise that Karofsky hasn't actually said a word to me without prompting. He only joins in with his friends in mocking me and teasing me and hurting me when they _directly_ involve him. I'm not absolving him here because he has said some horrible things to me today and done so many horrible things to Kurt, but for a split second I just hope that he wont say anything, not this time. This is a chance for him to stand up.

"Please." I whisper almost inaudibly, knowing he could never realistically hear me, "Please, don't."

There's a moment that follows my whispered plea then, a heart-stopping moment, a moment where the world seems to become so suddenly quiet that I can actually hear my own heart beating. A moment where I know that if I truly listened I could here his heart beating too because even though he's clearly the ringleader of his little friends, I know who he really is. I know _what_ he is. And I know that deep down inside of himself he can't possibly want this. He just can't.

So, I wait.

And then..

"Yeah, man, it's horrible." he says carefully and my world just seems to collapse in on itself and I want to scream at him, I want to ask him why he's being such a coward but before I can do so much as draw breath he adds bitterly, "Fucking fags." And then I know that he's in way too deep.

"Fucking fags!" They all repeat back easily and more than it hurts me, it breaks my heart because I realise instantly that we're the same in a way, Karofsky and I. Neither of us can be who we really are and we're both just trying to survive. And if he hadn't hurt Kurt in the way he did, or if he hadn't terrorised my best friend, or if he hadn't stolen away his first kiss, I think that maybe we could have been friends.

I close my eyes then as they repeat their hateful slurs, until forced creases are marking the corners of my eyes, and I draw my bottom lip sharply between my teeth, wincing at the sting as I catch the soft flesh - hoping to silence the sob that's been aching and building deep inside of my chest for release. And when a tiny squeak does leave my throat, despite my best efforts, I shrink back into myself automatically and I let my face fall heavily into my palms, so that I'm hidden away from them all - akin to a child hoping that when their eyes are covered they become invisible to the world- my fingertips edging steadily into my hair as my elbows press tightly against the wood of the desk, and I just sit there and I wish the bad feelings away, I wish the bad people away, in fact, I wish it _all_ away. But there are not enough stars in the sky.

There are not enough stars to make this feel right again.

Right now, I just feel so incredibly and so unbelievably _useless_ that I wish I'd stayed locked away in Kurt's room. I don't even have it in me to turn around and tell them all to shut up, to make sure they know that I hate them for everything they're saying about the boy I love and about me and about Karofsky, their _friend_, but I can't.. I just _can't_ and that makes me feel so damned awful. I feel like I'm betraying Kurt in some huge way as I sit here and I cry so hopelessly into my sleeves, but I don't know what else to do because no one is helping me here; no one but Mike is even _trying_ to help me. This is a big class, there are at least forty people crammed into this tiny classroom and all of them are turning a blind eye to this. All of them can hear what they're saying about me, about Kurt, about people who just happen to be gay and _no one_ has a thing to say about it. No one has the courage to stand up for me, for people like me, and say to them: '_Just stop this_.' Not even our teacher.

I feel Mike lay a soft hand on the centre of my back then, as a silent sob shudders up through my body and shakes out though my shoulders but he's just not enough. He's trying so hard to be what I need him to be but he simply doesn't know _what_ I need. What I need right now is Kurt. I need Kurt to look me in the eye and tell me that I'm okay, I need him to hold my hands in front of all of these bastards and tell me that _we're_ okay, though, at the same time, I don't want Kurt coming anywhere _near_ this place, or anywhere near these people, or anywhere near the sheer indignation that these people clearly hold for me; for both of us.

More than ever, I want Kurt to stay safe at Dalton - with our rambunctious friends and those stupid impromptu performances and those untimely meetings and those ridiculous sleepovers that occur at the end of every single semester. That sense of family and belonging, that is what I want Kurt to have. Not this. I don't want him trapped in this chaos anymore.

I'm still slightly lost in the almost-comforting thought of Kurt tucked away safely at Dalton, when I feel something small hit the back of my head. I cringe and then I peek through my hands, just in time to watch Mike shift in his seat next to me and carry a hand carefully to my hair. Pulling something away quickly and then returning the palm of his hand to its position at my back. His fingers softly drumming against my spine and then I'm suddenly overwhelmed again. I just don't feel safe here. This isn't _safe._

Thankfully, it's not long before the class bell rings out, signalling the long awaited end of the period, and just like that my first class is over and everyone around me starts to file out of the room - heading to the door in unplanned lines like little rows of ants on a mission. Like nothing ever happened.

I let a low, heavy sigh roll out of my body then, surprising myself with how exhausted I actually sound, before I reach a quick hand up, and run it over my hair - tossing away four tiny, spit-covered balls of paper, that Mike must had missed, in utter disgust.

_Mike._ I can't look at him, I can't even bring myself to turn my head and _look_ at him because for the past hour and a half he has tried, so hard, to keep them all at bay- barely looking at the textbook in front of him, barely answering the set questions we'd been given; remaining half-turned in his chair the entire time and so utterly desperate to help me, to do _something_, but he couldn't. Let's be honest here, ten against two is never the best of standings - even less so when one of the two is sporadically spattering his textbook with tears. We never stood a chance. I never stood a chance.

It's then, as the classroom is completely emptied of sound, that I realise that I could sit here all day and just cry to myself if I really wanted to. I could just stay in here and think about everything in relative safety, though, I'm sure there must be other jocks passing through here today, just not the smartest of them, and it doesn't matter anyway because that idea is soon thrust out of my head when a woman, a woman who calls herself our teacher, finally looks up at us from the laptop she's been overwhelmingly absorbed in for the entirety of the lesson and says clinically, "Boys, hurry up! Bring me your papers and go to your next class before I have to report you."

I just stare up at her in disbelief, my pounding head struggling to process her words, but it sets something off in Mike. Something big. I watch him shyly then, from behind my eyelashes, still feeling horrifically embarrassed by my breakdown, as he moves quickly out of his seat, grabs his work with extremely clumsy hands and places my blank sheet of paper under his. My eyes catch his briefly before I sink my chin down to avoid his gaze and he storms towards the teachers desk. His heavy footsteps reverberating powerfully throughout the room.

I watch through sore eyes as he slams the paper down with enough force to make both me flinch and the teacher jumps. I instinctively tuck my right hand under my thigh, hoping to hide the tremor that's started shaking it violently, and I try to focus on my breathing, just like Ellen taught me to. I stare at the scene in front of me with increasingly large eyes as the teacher's head snaps up, her darkening expression burning bitterly into Mike. He doesn't react, he waits.

"Mr Chang!" The teacher, who's name I haven't even been told, barks out in surprise, "What do you think you're doing?"

Mike just shakes his head - in what is unmistakably disbelief - and opens his mouth, holding his ground fearlessly as he bites, "What do I think _I'm_ doing? What are _you_ doing?" He growls then, marching away from her desk, his face clouded with a muddied mixture anger and revulsion. It makes me a little nervous, if I'm being completely honest. I just don't know Mike that well, I don't quite know what to expect from him.

There's a hesitant silence then, as Mike makes his way back towards me and sits on top of the desk we've shared with ease, pausing momentarily before he lays a soft hand on my back again. I tense a little this time but my reaction doesn't stop him from rubbing his palm soothingly between my shoulder blades. I glance at him quickly then, still a little unsure of his touch, and I register the worry and concern on his face. His anger has completely dissolved.

_He was never angry with you, you know that, Blaine. _I have to remind myself. _He's your friend._

When I do force myself to look up at him, I notice that he's staring at something, worry lines etched deeply into his forehead, I follow his gaze easily and it leads me to the hand that's wedged securely under my leg. Mike opens his mouth to speak then, his eyebrows drawing together in concern when he realises that I'm staring at him, staring at me. Though, Mike doesn't get a chance to form the words that are balancing on the tip of his tongue because our teacher gets there first. Her nasty huff cutting straight through the air and breaking the fragile moment that had hung so delicately between Mike and I, "Maybe," she starts vindictively, "This new boy is a bad example on you, Mike. You only answered two of the questions today. It's a little disappointing…" She trails off lightly and I can feel Mike tense, his hand stilling against my back. He suddenly looks so angry again, in fact, he looks furious but this time I trust him, I trust that it's not me. There's a passion burning in his eyes now, there's absolutely unhindered determination bubbling away, and it's something like I've seen in Puck and I can trust that. I'm used to trusting that.

"Come on, we're leaving." Mike whispers lowly at me then, obviously trying to smooth the tension out of his voice for me, moving and pulling his bag over his shoulders before unconsciously offering me a hand. I quickly stuff the textbook lying on the desk into my bag and I look at Mike's outstretched limb for a while, uncertain of what it actually means. Unsure of what I'm expected to do. Mike waves his fingers a little, as if to clarify, and I hesitantly reach out to take it. His hands are so warm and he has to have noticed my hand shuddering away but he doesn't say anything about it, he just gives it a gentle squeeze. Then he pulls me easily to my feet and I expect him to drop my hand but he doesn't, he doesn't even try to let it go.

"Mike.." I whisper timidly but he shakes his head firmly. He's telling me that it's okay, if I _want_ it to be okay - because I can clearly see the question there, the opportunity to pull my hand away and separate us. I don't do anything.

We march to the front of the classroom then and towards the teachers desk, well, Mike tries to march us to the front of the classroom but my body just isn't co-ordinating properly and so I end up practically leaning into him as we move between the desks that lie in our way.

Mike stops us in front of the teacher, waiting until she looks up at us, her eyes filled with annoyance, before he says, "One day you will look back and you will realise that today is the day that you failed as a teacher. When you just _sat_ here and you let them say all of those things to Blaine," he squeezes my hand, "Those horrible, _hateful_ things - that I know you could hear from here - you failed _him_ and you failed _me_ and you failed _yourself._"

There's a surprising pause then before Mike adds definitively, "We're not coming back into to this classroom." I look over at him in confusion, through eyes that are still stinging from crying, as he says, "We're transferring to another class, effective immediately." With a surprisingly sense of calm.

The teacher, Miss Landy, her desk says, stares up at Mike and I almost nervously but she knows, we all know, that she can't disagree with what he's saying because she knows that Mike is right. So, all she can offer, in a last minute bid to keep us, is, "But this is the only high level English class at this school…"

I can feel Mike shrug casually, "Then maybe I'm one step below where I was academically this morning, so what? At least I know that I didn't slide down the scale of human decency." And with that we're gone and we're out into the bustling hallway before I can even comprehend that we've moved.

I want to pull my hand away from his then - and I do actually try to - because I don't want him getting into any trouble because of me but I can't, he won't let go, and I can't really pull my hand away properly because my head is still absolutely spinning. I can't think straight, at all, and my brain is refusing to work with my body and suddenly, I realise that I'm only one or two false moves away from having my father charging at me with his horrible, heavy hands and his sour, stagnant breath.

Mike must sense something's wrong. Though I'm not entirely sure which of my forty pre-existing signs gives me away this time.

"You're okay." he whispers softly, as people begin to stare at us and I try to move away from him, so that I'm walking behind him, but our linked hands make it all look so incredibly awkward and it doesn't quite work out. I stumble over my own feet then and he stops walking to make sure that I'm okay before he squeezes my hand tightly and we start walking again, his voice low but firm, "It's okay. You're not gong back there. I promise you." And I just hope that his promises mean something because they seem to and I choose to have a faith in him, and our new friendship, I choose to believe in that.

We're surrounded by empty hallways and closed doors when I finally come to my senses enough to realise that Mike hasn't taken us directly to gym class. I don't say anything though, I just continue to follow his lead and eventually we end up at a door marked 'School Office'. He walks us straight up to the desk and he calmly requests a class transfer for us both before he gently demands to see Principal Figgins.

I continue to follow Mike's lead as we fill out countless forms and once we're done the sweet old lady behind the desk, who keeps shooting soft glances at me, explains that they'll have to check with our parents first to make sure it's okay. That instantly unleashes a new sense of panic within me and I'm suddenly very worried that they'll phone my father - but then I remember that Burt is written down as my guardian and I relax. _Burt._ I could really do with seeing his face right about now.

"Thank you." Mike says sweetly, as he hands her the pens back and then he leads me a little further down a corridor; to a row of plastic chairs and then tells me to sit down, _if you want to, I mean, you don't look too steady right now._ I like that he keeps giving me choices, I like that he lets me decide for myself. I sit down and Mike sits down next to me and there's barely thirty seconds of comfortable silence between us before a door opens and a man I recognise a Principal Figgins says, "Mr. Chang! Mr. Anderson! What can I do for you?"

"I need to report a teacher." Mike says quickly, almost nervously, and Principal Figgins' smile falters a little before he says, "You should come inside."

Mike looks back at me then and says, "Will you be okay out here by yourself?" I nod automatically and then I watch them both vanish.

It's probably about ten minutes before Mike walks out of the office and tilts his head slightly at me, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as he says, "It's sorted, it's all okay." I nod once in understanding, not wanting the details, but I can't quite look at him and I don't know why.

He moves to sit down next to me then, waiting for a couple of minutes before saying, incredibly sincerely, "I'm sorry you had to listen to them saying those things about you, and about Kurt, that wasn't right."

"You didn't say it; you don't owe me anything." I whisper almost inaudibly, something tightening deep in my chest, and when I glance over at him he's looking at me so desperately. His eyes letting me know that he was out of his depth and that he was a little too overwhelmed too and that I wasn't as alone in that room as I initially believed I was. He was right there with me.

"Blaine, your hands." Mike says suddenly, pointing downwards. I follow his pointing finger to my palms and I notice the crescent shaped cuts marking my flesh. The damage my own fingernails did, I shrug it off quickly, "I've had much worse." There's a silence then. A silence that allows him time to process what I mean.

"I didn't know how to stop them." Mike confesses quietly, almost painfully, and I just nod because I can understand how he's feeling, "But you tried, Mike." I offer, testing his name on my tongue.

"Blaine, I'm so sorry." He repeats and I reach out hand automatically before I realise what I'm doing and I pull it back, feeling incredibly uneasy, only for Mike to pick it up mere seconds later. And I can see it click, I can actually see him understand, he gets that _this_, this simple touch of fingertips, is how I feel safe. He squeezes my fingers with his then and I smile over at him.

Today I made a good friend and his name is Mike Chang.

o~o~o

When Mike and I walk into the locker room there's no one in sight - there's just dozens of lockers closed tightly with corners of clothes and shoe laces peeking out - and it's clear enough from that, people have been here recently. I assume that they're all outside now - changed into their exercise appropriate attire and running warm-up laps - in preparation for whatever activity it is that the Coach has planned for us. I just hope that whatever it is isn't too strenuous because I'm not entirely convinced that my head wont explode.

I'm still feeling a little emotional and a little sensitive; so I try to find things to focus on - just like Ellen had taught me to, for when I feel trapped in that confusing mid-world between grounded reality and flashback - things like the quarter gleaming up at me from the floor or the solitary shoe that's half-hidden under a bench. Though, before I get too lost in my slightly adjusted game of I-Spy, the door that leads directly to the playing field swings open and Puck and Finn walk in. They're talking quietly to one another, sharing unreadable glances, only stopping when they look up and see Mike and I looking back at them.

"There you are!" Puck says quickly, "I was getting really worried about you." He offers and I know that he means it, it's not just talk, there is not a single doubt in my mind that he was actually worried about me, after all, that seems to be what he does.

"Here we are!" I say, almost too quietly, trying to sound enthusiastic but the happiness I'm trying to convey doesn't quite coming through. I can hear that much for myself and it's made all the more obvious by the way Puck's face changes.

"What's going on?" He asks then, slowly and so carefully, his face shifting and morphing into something near apprehension. I try to say _I'm fine, really_ but when Puck reaches out to touch my shoulder and I flinch I wonder why I thought I could lie to him in the first place. This is Puck. The boy who does _nothing_ by halves. He pulls his fingers back from me then, like the tips are on fire and it's like the night we met, all over again.

"Hey, no, come on. What happened to you?" He asks softly - in that voice - that soft, reassuring, _I'm right here with you, Blaine_ voice and I just can't do this. It's not like he wont find out that I've just spent an hour and a half crying as our peers picked away at me like famished vultures anyway. So, I shake my head, outstretch my arms like a child and whisper the name of one of the nicest people I have ever met, "_Puck._"

He automatically moves forward then and wraps his hands around my body, he doesn't even hesitate, even after my flinch, and that's why I adore him. He's not afraid to do this because, just like Kurt, he can read me. He knows me - not in the same way Kurt knows me but in a way which means that he knows what's happening to me, in my head, and how everything is so scary and huge and surprisingly new to me right now. He understands how fragile I feel.

"What did they do to you?" Puck asks gently, so gently, like he's giving me an option when this time he really isn't, because this is important, and I'm reminded of those times he begged me to tell him if I was hurt over the phone. When he pleaded with me to tell him if I needed an ambulance after my father had choked me. That memory just makes grip him tighter, my fingers gripping at his shirt as his words run through my head. We may not have known each other for long but we've been through a lot together. I don't know what to say to him, so, I just say what I feel, that's never led me astray, not with him, so I whisper against his neck, emotion flooding me, "Puck, they hate me."

It's Mike who talks next, it's Mike who becomes my voice and fills in the gaps that would torment Puck otherwise, "They wouldn't leave him alone." he starts, "The entire lesson they just pushed and prodded and poked and called him horrible, _horrible_ names. And I just.. I didn't know how to make it stop, I _couldn't_ make it stop." Mike finishes quietly, like he's done something drastically wrong and when I do finally pull away from Puck it's with the express intention of saying something to Mike. Something extremely soft and awfully cliché, something like: _Mike, really, it's not you, it me. _

I don't get the opportunity to say anything, though, because Puck puts one of his hands on my face and stops my head from turning, his eyes searching mine desperately with concern. But what he finds there doesn't satisfy him, I know it doesn't, I can see it in his face, in the way that his posture changes, I can see him looking into my eyes and then him just suddenly _knowing_ everything that I feel. The hard things that I can't quite put into words. I watch as his eyes darken in front of me, my heart pounding heavily as he runs a thumb over my cheek and says very, very carefully, "Please, don't hate me, I'm not like them."

And with that he charges outside.

"_Wait, _Puck! No!" Finn calls loudly, chasing after his friend like he knows what's about to happen and he probably does. It's clear enough that Puck's going out there to pick a fight. Mike and I follow them in a somewhat unsure way, he pushes the door open to let me through and then reaches a hand down to links our fingers as we take in the scene before us. Mike still doesn't quite know what that gesture means to me, but he knows it means a lot, and I would have spent more time feeling grateful for that, I really would have, but it's kind of hard to stay focused on particular feelings when you can see your friend running straight towards the group of jocks who've only just finished reducing you to tears. They're no more than twenty feet away from us now.

"What the fuck, Karofsky?" Puck shouts then, shoving the taller, broader boy square in the chest. And I want to say something quickly, like: _Puck, it's not him, not really, it's them! _But I can't because as I watch his hands hit Karofsky's chest again and again I have a horrific moment of absolute realisation. I suddenly understand that _this_ is how Puck fought against his father. This is how he fought back. I take a step backwards then and shake my head because it's completely _staggering. _

Mike throws me a quick glance and squeezes my hand but the tears are already forming in my eyes and my vision is already blurring again because this, this fighting back, _this_ is a snapshot of Puck's childhood. While other people have family photographs at the beach, Puck and I, we have this. I look at Finn then and he has a look of absolute concern plastered on his face as he watches his best friend pushing Karofsky in the chest again and again and again and again. Like he's seen this a thousand times. And I know now that he has.

"You _don't_ touch him, Karofsky. Are we fucking _clear_ here because I can make it clearer?" Puck snarls his fists falling to his sides and curling quickly. He's in fight mode. Karofsky looks puzzled for a while, until he looks around and he sees me, he's their leader and even if he doesn't want to do this he _has_ to do it now - Puck has just thrown the gauntlet down before him and he can't ignore that. He can't afford to look weak. He's worked too hard on pretending.

His whole body changes then - he gets taller, moves his hands to his hips to make himself wider, tilts his head slightly in defiance. He's saying that he's not afraid but I want to run over there, grab him by the shoulders and say: _Yes, you are! You are afraid. You're afraid of yourself. You're afraid of your friends. _But I don't move, I don't even try to. I can barely believe that this is happening.

"I'll do what I want to do." Karofsky bites out firmly, baring his teeth slightly but Puck's not afraid of him, why should he be, he's fought harder before, he's battled his own personal Goliath and won.

"Fine, do whatever you want - I don't actually give a shit - but not with _him._ You don't go near _him_." Puck says protectively, as I draw my bottom lip between my teeth. I don't like this. My heart is thundering in my chest now. Like my human heart has somehow been replaced with that of a rabbit. I never knew that a human heart could beat as fast mine is in this moment.

"What? Do you love him or something? Is our little fuck-up, Noah Puckerman, in love with baby Hummel's butt boy?" Karofsky mocks and I know that there's no backing out now. Karofsky has just made this incredibly personal.

Puck doesn't even blink.

"Yeah, I do. I love him and I'm not so backwards that I can't say that out loud. Liking someone, loving someone, in which ever way you choose to, isn't fucking _shameful._ I don't know why you think you get to go around judging people for feeling something more than indifference or hatred. It's a really fucking shitty thing to do." Puck shouts in his face and I'm left with my palm pressed firmly against Mike's - trying to wrap my head around the fact that Puck just told a group of neanderthal jocks that he loves me. And I love him too, I do, he's perfect, just.. not like this. Not fighting. I don't want him fighting. I can't handle that.

My body shudders.

"Oh! I didn't know you were a fag too, Puckerman. Do you look at us in the shower too? Like that faggy coward Hummel did, it's fucking _sick_!" he spits nastily - though even from here I can see something in Karofsky's face, something that doesn't quite match his words.

"HEY!" Finn shouts then, drawing everyone's attention, "What did you just call my brother?"

"A _coward_." One of Karofsky's friends declares spitefully and I know that voice, I look at him, he's the one who mocked Kurt, he's the boy who laughed at the idea of my best friend, my future boyfriend, being in pain, in _that_ way.

"He is _not_ a coward!" Finn starts aggressively, dragging my focus to him, and suddenly it's Puck's turn to hold his friend back, a hand wrapped tightly around his bicep, Finn looks ready to lunge, "He was just one tiny kid and all of you, you made his life hell! You made him so scared sometimes but he never ever let that show and you know what, yeah, he did leave his piece of shit school but YOU are the cowards! It took you all years of yelling and pushing and shoving and name-calling to get what you wanted. So, whatever you say, I think he's _brave_, in fact, I think he's really damn strong. I'm _proud_ to call him my brother _and_ my friend and I think you're all just jealous because he's worth far more than all of you assholes put together!" Finn finishes boldly and I have never seen such protective passion in him.

"_Assholes._" Karofsky's friend laughs lightly, "Hummel likes those, huh? Just like that fucking faggot clinging to Chang like a lost lamb." He looks over at me and my skin crawls.

"Hey, you leave him alone!" Finn shouts quickly, springing to my defence.

"Look, what's your fucking point, Karofsky?" Puck bites out darkly, standing in front of him.

"My point is that it's fucking disgusting and it's _wrong_?" the taller boy replies and I have to remind myself of everything Ellen has taught me in a flash.

_Breathe, Blaine, come on, you can do this._ I say over and over again; trying to focus on the air entering and exiting my body rather than the confusion that's starting to steadily cloud my mind.

_You're stronger than this. You're not wrong. You're perfect. You're not wrong. You're perfect. _I remind myself quickly, but the fear of knowing that the ghost of my father could appear any minute is easily as great as the fear of this situation itself and, right now, that just isn't helping me out.

"Okay, here's the deal, and all of you better listen the fuck up because I will _not_ be repeating myself." Puck demands, finally releasing his grip on a slightly calmer Finn, "There is nothing - and I mean _nothing_ - wrong with Blaine or Kurt or _anyone_ falling in love with someone of their own gender. Do you understand me? Not a single fucking thing! So, shut your horrible fucking mouths, right now, before I rip all of your fucking jaws off." Puck snarls dangerously, I cringe and I take another step backwards, my eyes closing tightly. I can feel Mike moving in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, "Blaine? Are you okay?"

I just shake my head, no, and listen to my friend fighting for me as warm tears spill over my eyelids and run down my face. This is too much, I just can't handle this.

"Yeah?" I hear Karofsky challenge roughly.

"Oh, yeah. Just push me, once more, I fucking _dare_ you." Puck all but growls.

"See, I think you're bluffing because your latest faggot is practically crying over there and, as you love him so shamelessly, you fucking _queer_, I don't think you want to hurt his precious little rainbow feelings.." Karofsky says confidently, earning noises of hasty agreement from his friends.

"I could end you-" Puck threatens coldly and he has never sounded so dangerous.

"But, what, you're too chicken?" Karofsky mocks aggressively.

"No! But Blaine is too important for me to screw things up. Especially by getting into fights with people who talk a whole load of shit but have nothing to back themselves up with." Puck says, the tension in his voice more than evident but I'm suddenly proud of him because he's backing away, for me, because he knows me and he cares and he knows that I can't do this. I can't stand here and watch him take part in a physical fight because I need him too much. My eyes flutter open in a rare moment of complete silence.

"Ha!" Karofsky mocks loudly and I realise that Mike is standing right in front of me. I wipe my tears away and I try to silently reassure him, to tell him that I'm okay. He nods eventually and moves to stand next to me again, his arm wrapping around my shoulders comfortably and just in time to hear Karofsky say, "So, what, you're just going to walk away, just like that?"

"Oh, no. I have something to say first." Puck says lowly, slyly, and Karofsky's smirk completely falls of his face when Puck leans forwards and mutters something.

I may never find out what actually made Karofsky backtrack so quickly but by the way he has reacted - and with what I know about his personal life - it's pretty hard to assume it's something other than the threat of his sexuality been revealed. No one wants to be the gay kid and if that means leaving the openly gay kid alone, so be it. I want to be thankful, I really do but I'm just struggling to understand that being gay is nothing to be ashamed of when everybody seems so damn ashamed all of the time.

"The new faggot is off limits." Karofsky says suddenly, his confidence wavering slightly.

"_What_?" One of them asks quickly and Karofsky just _turns_ on him, near ready to tear his own friend apart, making himself seem so much bigger as he shouts in the boys face, his sudden ferociousness not only lending itself to his posture but to his voice and it's absolutely terrifying, "Because I fucking _say_ he is. Now move out of my face before I break your fucking neck!" His circle of jocks waver slightly before they shift and step away. Making way for their friend to charge past them.

I'm so busy staring at Karofsky that I don't even notice Puck walk up to me, his hands clasped together tightly as he says, "Are you okay? It's over." I nod once, unsure of what to say to him, and I let Mike take me back into the locker room, closely followed by Puck and Finn, when we come face to face with a woman I assume is the Coach. If the whistle hanging around her neck is anything to go by. She's so tall.

"And where are you boys going?" She asks sternly, though the softness of her face tells another story. I'm not scared of her, I'm not sure that I could ever be scared by her.

"Can we skip class today, Coach?" Mike asks pleadingly and she looks at the four of us for a while then, her eyes lingering on me, a stranger, before Finn adds, "Please, Coach, just this once."

When her eyes meet mine, I pull them away, dropping my gaze to the floor, they're probably bright red and puffy, I probably look hideous. I'm half expecting her to make us all get changed when she says, "Just this once." I look up at her in shock.

"Thank you." Mike, Finn and Puck say in unison and she smiles such a beautiful smile that it surprises me. She looks at me once more before offering a hand, "You must be new around here, I'm Coach Beiste." I look at her reaching hand for a while before I stretch my own out..

"Blaine Anderson." I say quickly, my throat a little scratchy as we shake hands.

"You play football?" she asks and I almost smile because she sounds just like Mike.

"Sometimes." I say quietly and she nods in approval.

"You should try out, I'm always looking out for fresh meat!" I laugh lightly then and she grins at me, "Ah-ha! I knew there was a gorgeous smile in there somewhere." My cheeks flush a little and she looks down at the clipboard she's holding.

"You boys go and take good care of my fresh meat, you hear me, and I'll see you all bright and early tomorrow. And if they don't calm down," she says to me, clearly referring to that fact that I'm so obviously upset, "You just come to me and I'll kick them off the team, no questions, whether you're on the squad or not. I don't tolerate behaviour that results in you feeling the way you obviously do right now. Okay?" She reassures and I can't help but smile up at this curious lady. The woman who wears football socks and lipstick all at once, the woman who obviously holds the teenage boys that she teaches in line but still has the capacity to open up her heart to a stranger.

"Okay." I say softly and with that she smiles curtly and bows her head before she marches out of the door and the building. Her voice booming out after she blows her whistle sharply, "YOU BOYS BETTER BE RUNNING LAPS WITHIN THE NEXT FIVE SECONDS OR YOU'LL ALL BE GETTING TO KNOW ME BETTER IN FRIDAY NIGHT DETENTION TOMORROW! NOW MOVE! GO ON! MOVE YOUR ASSES!" All we hear from inside is a mass moan of disgruntled complaints and I just have to smile at that.

If Miss Landy is the worst example of a teacher then Coach Beiste is easily the best.

o~o~o

By the time lunch arrives I find myself completely surrounded by people - people who I instantly recognise from either meeting them once or twice in person or because Kurt has mentioned them. Puck is sitting on my right and Finn is on my left and the conversation is easy and, if being honest, this is what I had hoped this school could be for me. It's all laughter and comfortable teasing and easy touches and it's almost enough to make me forget about this morning - because since Puck got himself involved Karofsky hasn't so much as looked at me - and while I don't like the idea of that, the idea that he won't even show me his face now, I like the idea of being left alone much more. So, I accept it for what it is. Maybe that's not right, maybe it seems a little selfish but - like Burt told me once - sometimes you have to look out for yourself first.

"Look it's Blaine! Blaine's already my friend. Right, Blaine?" Brittany says as she sits down at the table with her tray - only to be joined a second later by beautiful Latina girl who Kurt had once told me was in love with her - Santana.

"Of course I'm your friend, Britt." I say eventually and Santana smiles over at me, "Oh, well, in that case. Let me introduce myself properly. Santana Lopez - self-proclaimed badass bitch and president of the Sweet Valley High fan club." I raise an eyebrow and she smirks, "Problem, short stuff?"

"Not at all." I say and she laughs lightly, "That's what I thought. Listen up, have those guys been giving you shit because just tell me and I will go all Lima Heights, okay?"

"They haven't said a word since earlier." I say honestly and she nods, a hint of victory in her voice as she says, "Let's hope it stays that way, for their sake.." She's so interesting to me that I can't help but stare at her for a while. She's a girl who can clearly handle herself and I have instant respect for her sense of confidence.

"Tana, can you open this for me, I don't want to make a mess?" Brittany asks quietly, trying not to interrupt, and she's almost looks like a child as her eyes widen and she holds out a yogurt pot.

"Sure, Britt." Santana says, without hesitation, ripping the lid off the pot with ease and handing it back to Brittany. They start whispering to one another then and it's so beautiful to watch that I zone out a little. It's pretty obvious that they're more that friends when you look at them. The way Santana will touch Brittany's arm as they talk, the way she'll roll her eyes at her friend in the least malicious way possible, the way she laughs at Brittany's jokes that don't make any sense at all or, perhaps in the greatest demonstration of her respect for Brittany, the way she stays completely silent when her friend does something the outside world would consider 'stupid' and everyone starts laughing, everyone but _her_. Those little things that they share between one another are touching and I cannot understand how people can think that they are 'wrong' somehow for being in love - which, in turn, helps to remind me that Kurt and I are not wrong either. There's an easy, playful nature to the girls' relationship, a trait that I think Kurt and I will have after all of this calms down properly and we're ready to take the plunge together and I welcome that with open arms. They're both so free together and you'd be foolish not to aspire to something like that.

"Can I talk to you?" Puck whispers unexpectedly, he's loud enough to draw me away from my thoughts but nowhere near loud enough to draw the attention of anyone else sitting at the table.

"Puck-" I start quietly.

"Please? I really need to talk to you." he whispers and I nod because it's Puck.

"Okay." I say and with that he stands from the table and waits for me to follow suit, as soon as I'm upright he taps Finn on the shoulder and says, "I'm taking Blaine out for five." Finn just nods and smiles at me and I follow Puck out of the cafeteria and through a door, that I hadn't even noticed, which in turn leads us straight to the school's car park.

"There's this tree over here," Puck says pointing to a solitary tree on a patch of grass, he's trying to explain himself as he leads me to it, "We can talk here. Alone. Properly."

He quickly sits down and I join him. My hands pressing into the golden leaves that lie fallen around us.

"I'm sorry this morning was so rough." he says then, playing nervously with the denim of his jeans. He's not usually like this, not when it's just us. We don't pose threats to one another.

"That's not your fault." I offer quietly, "And you seem to have stopped it, for the most part."

"About that.." Puck trails off, glancing at me fretfully. I don't like seeing him this way, at all.

"Puck-" I start but he shakes his head. He needs to say something, I'm not about to stop him.

"They hurt you and you looked… God, Blaine, you looked so _sad_ and I just... I just had to do _something_ and I know that you don't like fighting and that it makes you nervous and jumpy and uncomfortable.." he explains regretfully, "And I remember that day you thought Kurt and Mr H. were fighting and how that got you so scared.. and I don't have an excuse, Blaine, I don't have a reason or an explanation or _anything_ for you. I just.. I saw that they'd hurt you and I had to do something because I care about you. I really, really care about you."

"I know." I say quietly and he frowns. He's not satisfied with that.

"I shouldn't have pushed him, I shouldn't have put my hands on him and I'm just so _sorry_ about that part. I don't know if you believe in second chances. I just don't… I don't want you to be afraid of me, Blaine."

"_What?_" I say quickly, confusion no doubt contorting my features.

"I don't want you to be scared of me or what I could do to you because I would never, _never_, hurt you." He says firmly, his eyes shining sadly under the light of the midday sun.

"I know." I say again, honestly, and he smiles softly this time, "I hope you really believe that."

"I'm not.." I start, looking at Puck who nods encouragingly, like he always has, for me to go on, "I'm not afraid of you but I was.. I was scared I think but not of _you_. Never of you. I was just scared that you'd get hurt because of me, Puck, and I'm not.. I'm not sure that I'm worth that." I finish and he reaches a hand out to me, I take it easily and he smiles, "You are worth it."

"What.. what did you say to him?" I ask quietly then, almost regretting it before he tugs my hand.

"What do you think I told him?" He asks and I shrug, my eyes focusing on blades of grass, "That you knew he was gay? That you'd tell everyone?" Puck stiffens next to me.

"Look at me." He says then, his voice just firm enough to pull my gaze upwards, "I didn't use that against him, I used some shit I found out about him but not _that_. Never that. I wouldn't do that to him."

"You didn't?" I ask and he shakes his head, "No. Not that. I promise."

And that's enough.

"I'm sorry, I thought-" I start and he cuts me off.

"Don't apologise." He says, his smile returning as he laughs to himself, "You have nothing to be ashamed of, _nothing_, okay? Remember that time in the street? When I told you that I was willing to repeat myself like a clichéd broken record? Yeah, well, this is one of _those_ times. So, here it goes. You're perfect Blaine Anderson and there is no one like you on this earth. You're such a beautiful person and I love you. Not quite in the way that Kurt seems to love you.. but you get what I'm saying, right?" I smile and then I laugh, "Yeah, I get it. And I love you too. Just for the record. Your clichéd broken record." And then we just sit there for a while, staring at the tyres of cars and nudging each other playfully until we both remember that we have other friends inside and we pull ourselves off the ground and head back in.

When we walk back to our table, the girls get over-excited and the boys smile warmly and I'm left thinking that maybe this school isn't quite so bad after all. I think I've found a new kind of hope here today and I think I could be okay. Maybe even happy.

"You boys just missed Rachel falling over her own feet again and spattering herself in spaghetti sauce." Santana laughs teasingly and Rachel just huffs next to her, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, poorly hiding an obvious stain, "Oh, well, you _would_ find it funny, wouldn't you?"

"Clearly." Santana smiles and, yeah, I think I could be happy here after all.

o~o~o


	23. Chapter 23

**Note:** Firstly, I'm so sorry that this took so long, I've had a lot of essays to write! Apparently, doing an English Literature degree will do that to you! Secondly, this is predominantly a filler chapter, so, I'm sorry nothing action packed happens. I just needed to sort a few things out and get Blaine ready for the amount of Kurt I'm about to throw at him in the next chapter! Yep. ;) Thirdly, It's 2am on Christmas Day, so, HAPPY HOLIDAY OF YOUR CHOOSING! :D And finally, THANK YOU FOR ALL OF THE LOVELY REVIEWS, THEY MEAN THE WORLD TO ME! 3

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The pleasant feeling that our lunch period leaves me with doesn't fade away. Instead, it lingers warm and bright inside of me, burning brilliantly and boldly like a thousand flighty fireflies, and that precious feeling, that beautiful, truly hopefully feeling, is being guarded so carefully by the protective walls that my friends - both new and old - have built around me today that I can't help but catch myself smiling. The contentment running from the very tips of my toes up to the roots of the hair on my head and it's such a genuine, unfeigned feeling that it blows my mind for a moment. I can still barely bring myself to believe that I'm actually doing it, that I'm finally finding new ways to be happy, but I am. The heavy load that this morning had forcibly pushed upon my shoulders is gradually lifting away and everything seems so much brighter now - even the pitifully plain walls that we walk past.

I'm heading to my final class of the day - arm in arm with the ever lovely Brittany - and the corners of my mouth are upturned brightly as we move along the crowded hallway with surprisingly synchronised steps. Our footfalls corresponding perfectly and our bodies pushed close - not for safety, just for touch. And we're surrounded by a tight circle of people as we progress past rows and rows of unfamiliar lockers. The secure sphere made up of the individuals who have not only taken to me so kindly today, but have befriended me so naturally that this is all still a little overwhelming. And I'm still struggling to comprehend the full scale of their irrefutable generosity but I think, or rather I _know_ now, that I'm okay and that there's nothing wrong with me. I can finally understand what Kurt and Burt and Puck and Ellen have been telling me all along - that people _can_ like me and that people can _love _me for being myself.; for just being me. Regardless of how I dress, or who I fall in love with, or my comportment, or my past and there's something so empowering about that. There's something so validating and it gives me such a brand new sense of strength.

Of course, Kurt had continuously reassured me that making friends today was entirely possible - and more than a little plausible - but I don't think that I ever truly believed those words as they've tumbled so earnestly out of his sweet and giving mouth. Especially this morning, as I stood before him, half devoured by anxiety and fear. And I'm _not_ stupid, I can see that that's my fault, that it's all down to me, that obvious lack of self belief that seems to get so carried away with itself sometimes. But after everything, I think that perhaps I was just too frightened to believe in Kurt's sweet sentiments and share in his blind faith for the overall goodness of the world. Because what if it _had _become another misplaced hope, or another wish lost on it's way to the brightest star in the sky? I don't think I could have handled that kind of set back, not now, not after I've worked so hard.

But these beautiful, philanthropic people have effortlessly counteracted the pain and persecution that became my morning and since then they've been offering me their warm hands - both literally and figuratively - all day. Though, more than anything, they've been helping me to feel unexpectedly, overwhelmingly _normal _and I'm just so incredibly grateful for that. It's such a beautiful feeling. And if Kurt Hummel - the boy whom I love with all of my heart - and the entire Hummel-Hudson family present me with constant support and unwavering protection from myself and my father, then these people - my new friends - offer me support and protection from the outside world and the bullies who haunt and plague this school like rapacious and ravenous shadows. And it's a shame. It's such an awful shame that I need them like this and that they feel the need to protect me like they clearly do, but I'm just _not_ sorry about it. I will never be sorry about it. I deserve to be safe too. After everything, I deserve that much and if Kurt was here with me - which I'm still incredibly thankful he's not - I know he'd pull me aside and make me swear that I understood exactly that. He'd look me straight in the eye, take my hands in his and then say something impossibly thoughtful before whispering, 'Promise me, Blaine. Promise me?' Just like he always does and just like he always will because: _"Where will I always be, Blaine?" _

I can actually feel my smile broaden and I briefly wonder how Kurt is but I'm pulled away from my drifting thoughts of him when Puck brings me to a halt outside of an unfamiliar classroom. Touching my shoulder so carefully with his newly muted fingertips as he begins to explain to me that he and Finn will meet me outside, by the car, after school. I smile over at him as he talks, my head still half-full with it's images of Kurt, though Puck just uses my pause as an opportunity to search my eyes with his own. A steady blush burning over my cheeks when I find myself wondering if Puck can tell that I've been thinking of Kurt again. The knowing smile that lingers on his lips only confirms that he can. So, I try and pay better attention to him.

When Puck _has_ finished talking, though, I nod once in understanding and then I watch - my arm still linked with Britt's - as my new friends start to walk away from me, one by one, in their different directions. And it's suddenly very obvious to me that they've all gone out of their ways for me - quite literally - but before I can even think of saying something in protest they're all gone, every last one of them. Well, everyone except for Santana and Brittany.

Santana waits patiently until the hallway is completely bare and then she steps hesitantly towards Brittany and I and disentangles the girl that she so obviously loves from my body. Looking over to me with her hand wrapped tightly around Brittany's, her deep brown eyes searching for some unknown thing in my face. I just offer her a shy smile, unsure of what she wants me to do but that seems to be enough because she smiles back at me and turns away. Shifting her focus back to Brittany; wrapping her arms carefully around her waist and then placing a chaste kiss on the blonde's cheek. They whisper to one another for a while then, quiet and easy, before Brittany reaches out for me and pulls me into tight hug. Bidding me goodbye before she glances over at Santana and departs. Leaving us completely alone in the hallway.

Santana wastes no time at all and before I even have a moment to consider protesting, she's ushering me into a classroom, her careful hands guiding my body through the door. Forcing me to take the steps that I would have hesitated over otherwise and I'm suddenly incredibly nervous that something will go horribly wrong. It's not that I don't trust Santana or that I don't think she has the fortitude that the guys have. In fact, I'm almost certain that she's as badass as she's told me she is, so, it's nothing like that. It's just that this is my last class of the day. I've almost made it and that in itself is so terrifying and so exciting. All I have to do is get through this double Art class and then my first day is over. It's done with. I'll have survived my first day at William McKinley High School. I'll have done something that I truly thought was completely impossible - even with the hitches of this morning - and if I can do that, then what else can I do? Everything?

I take in the classroom as I'm guided further and further inside, inspecting my new surroundings as we move, and I can only imagine how strange we must appear to the people who are already in the room and ready to start their work. With their paints and pencils spread out on their desks. And I must admit that everyone does looks suspiciously nice in here. But I keep looking around anyway - checking for possible threats or people who might just hate the mere sight of me, and it's then that I'm struck by something rather profound. An understanding of sorts; a bittersweet realisation and this is it: Art is clearly seen as a 'girly' subject at McKinley. Just like Home Economics was for Kurt. And I don't think I mind, not really, because I would rather be here, surrounded by girls, than in some other class which is considered a hundred times more 'manly' or 'masculine' but is something which I truly have no passion for. Puck's words from this morning rushing through my head like a freight train: _'Do what you want to, okay? Not what those bigoted assholes tell you you're doing.'_ And I know that being here - in Art - is what I want.

So, I let Santana and her steady hands guide me to a desk at the very back of the room and almost as soon as I take a seat I notice that the girls around us start to perk up. I'm completely surrounded by members of the fairer and - in my experience - gentler sex. The sweet scents of their soft perfumes mixing in the air, along with the familiar aroma of paint, and it's overwhelming me a little. This place is just so incredibly different from Dalton - that familiar musky smell of boys just isn't here, there are no blazers hanging from pegs on the wall, Nick and Jeff aren't laughing in the corner and flicking paint at one another, Kurt isn't just across the hall from me and in French class- but for some reason my mind automatically registers this room as a safe haven anyway.

I look around again, curiosity coursing through my veins, and I can feel their eyes on me but I know that they're not judging me, their faces tell me that much, they're just being inquisitive, they're just interested in the odd boy who's breeched their territory. They're all offering me welcoming smiles and looking away so quickly if our eyes should so much as meet by accident, so, I know for a fact that they're not a threat. In fact, I can't help but blush at the attention they're giving me because as a boy who's spent most of his life purposely staying out of people's gazes, it might take me a while to adjust to this level of interest. And it would probably be a lot easier for me to adjust if some of them weren't looking at me in _that _way, because I'm not used to that at all - but, honestly, I just hope that I can get to know them all, because I'd like that. We do share this class, after all, so at the very least we have our love of art in common.

"Well, well, well." Santana says, rather mischievously, as she sits down next to me, a broad smile tugging at the corners of her expressive mouth and lighting up her lovely face, "It's seems you're quite the lady magnet, Anderson."

"I- I don't mean to be." I stutter out instinctively as my eyes widen. My head turning and my eyes searching her face, hoping to see some unknown _thing_ in the depths of her eyes, anything at all to help me out, but she just laughs lightly. Her hand falling softly onto my forearm and patting down twice.

"I know you don't _mean_ to, hobbit, it's okay." Santana reassures me then, a hint of tenderness in her voice, "It's just an observation, don't worry so much, it's not a bad thing."

I don't quite know what to say to that; so I just let it linger for a while and then I try to smooth the creases of worry from my forehead.

"So," Santana starts wistfully and I know that she's trying to help me relax a little, it's obvious by the way that she keeps her voice so light, and she's being incredibly sweet to me now, as she asks, "Do many boys take the Art class at Dalton?"

"Almost everyone." I say then, offering her a friendly smile, "You don't have to worry about what people think of you there. Dalton's not that place." I offer and she nods a little, taking her hand back from my arm and scooping her dark hair together - so it cascades neatly over one shoulder instead of two. She's beautiful.

"Is Kurt happy there?" She asks rather unexpectedly.

"Yes." I say without hesitation before adding, "And he's safe."

"Good for him." She says quietly, "He deserves to be happy." She smiles, glancing down at the desk in front of us, something shifting in her expression before she covers it. But I notice it anyway, the obvious longing; the expression of missing someone. I saw it only last night on Kurt's face. I know that look too well.

"He misses you, Santana." I offer then, "He misses _all _of you."

"I miss him too." she confesses, glancing at me sweetly before she reaches down into her bag and pulls out her sketchbook, "It's weird, you know, not seeing his weird catwalk clothes and his riotous bitch face. I miss seeing him strut down the hallways like he's the best thing to ever happen to the world. I miss him being the bravest kid around here, even when it got so bad, he never stopped radiating strength, you know?" She states honestly, laying her sketchbook down, and I just smile at her because I understand that feeling completely. Of course I do.

"I know how that is." I offer eventually and she bumps her shoulder into mine playfully.

"I guess we get you though, huh?" She smiles pleasantly.

"Yeah, you get me." I whisper quietly as my cheeks threaten to flush a bright, cherry red again.

"I mean, your clothes _are_ a little weird, and I'm not sure that you even _have_ a bitch-face, but it's nice to have someone like you around anyway. Someone different. Someone who's not hiding away. Someone who's not ashamed." Santana says carefully and I'm suddenly incredibly aware that she's talking to me about her sexuality now.

"You know, I'll always listen if you need to talk to someone." I offer sincerely and she smiles.

If I can help her then I want to. I don't know how many people Santana can talk to about this, or if she used to talk to Kurt about it, or if she's never talked to _anyone _about it. But if I can help her feel less alone, or less isolated, or more open, then I want to because I know how alone feels and no one deserves that. Santana certainly doesn't deserve that, despite how badass she is, it's incredibly clear to me that she has a good and kind heart.

"Yeah?" she says then, something serious flashing in her eyes before it fades away again, "Well, if I ever want to cry a river over this pathetic dive of a town I'll know exactly who to call. You'll have to give me your number so I can put you on speed dial." she laughs lightly.

"If you want to, " I start nervously, "And you really don't have to, so, please, don't feel obliged or anything, but if you _want_ to then I'd really like to spend more time with you and Brittany outside of school.' I propose, rather boldly, because that's what friends do, right? Friends make plans together and I want Santana and Brittany to be my friends.

"Okay." she says quickly, not giving me enough time to feel stupid, "Yeah, I could be down with that, give me your number short stuff and I'll call you once I've talked to Britt about it." she says then, fishing her phone out of her bag and looking over at me in anticipation. Her thumb hovering over the keypad. I hadn't really thought this far ahead.

"Do you have Kurt's home number?" I ask then, a little hesitantly, and she frowns in confusion for a moment before she says, "Yeah." Like I might not want her to have my number when that _really_ isn't the case. I just don't have a phone right now.

"Then you already have my number." I offer quietly. Giving her a minute to process what I mean and read between the lines. Just like I had with Mike. I can't tell them directly, not yet, but I can tell them exactly what I want to _indirectly_ and that takes away any of the shame feelings that I might attach to the situation subconsciously - or at least that's what Ellen tells me and I don't disagree with her because letting my new friends know just enough is somehow freeing.

"Wait. You live with Kurt and Finn?" she asks uncertainly after a moment of pause and I just nod before she says, "But why?"

"I couldn't stay at home." I offer rather vaguely and, just like that, her face completely changes.

"Oh." Is all she says and then she looks at me for a while before she nods to herself and leans into me a little. I think she's going to ask me about it for a moment, but she doesn't, instead she smiles at me and asks, "Hey, Blaine, do you like jokes?"

"Of course I do. Who doesn't like jokes?" I reply with more than a hint of mock disgust in my voice and that's that - Santana Lopez laughs and by doing so she becomes my friend. Tearing out a few sheets of paper from her sketchbook and handing them over to me with a pencil, as if sealing the deal. Then she takes out another piece of paper, tears a bit from the corner and writes on it before handing it to me. It's her cell number signed with a little heart and 'Tana'. It's the shortened version of her name that I heard Brittany use earlier. I smile.

"Thank you." I say as I fold the number and stuff it into my jeans.

"No problem." she shrugs, "Now brace yourself because my brain is like a bank vault filled with filthy jokes and you just got yourself permission to take a look around." 

o~o~o

As it turns out, Santana has _the_ dirtiest collection of jokes that I have _ever_ heard in my _entire_ life and because of that our double period of Art just flies by. Her words simultaneously making my cheeks blush a bright blistering red and my sides ache from suppressing laughter for the full hour and a half. And if I've learnt anything from this, it's that Santana is a lot like Puck, she isn't shy, she's incredibly bold with her words and her actions but she's also _incredibly_ sweet with it.

By the time the final bell rings out, signalling the end of the day, I have a huge grin plastered on my face and Santana's still talking away to me as she wipes our desk free of paint. Throwing the dirty rag in her hands carelessly towards the sink; not even looking back at it as she picks her bag up off the floor. I do the same, reaching down under the table, and as soon as I've straightened my clothes out Santana reaches out and hooks her arm through mine. It's so natural that I don't even think about it and together we walk arm in arm into the nearly empty hallway. We're barely a foot away from the door when she stops us both in our tracks and says, "I have cheerleading practice right now, I'm head cheerleader by the way, in case you're into that kind of thing, which if you are, you should know that Kurt was once one of us, but anyway what I meant to say was if you want me to, I can walk you out to the car?"

"Kurt was a _cheerleader_? Wow. No. I'll be fine," I reassure her quickly, images of Kurt in uniform suddenly filling my head, "We're practically outside anyway. But have fun at practice and I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You know, I've got to say, you're pretty awesome, Blaine." She smiles happily before she nudges my arm playfully and stage whispers, "I reckon if we can't have Kurt then we've got the next best thing." I smile back at her then, teeth and all, words bubbling up inside of me as I try to find a way to thank her properly for being so kind to me, it must show on my face though - the gratitude and the confusion - because she just rolls her eyes and says, "Don't blow your own mind, genius." I scoff in reply and roll my eyes right back at her. It all so incredibly Santana that we both laugh out loud.

"I just wanted to say 'thank you'.. but that doesn't seem even _close_ to enough." I explain reservedly but Santana just grins and tilts her head a little, "It's enough, Blaine, believe me. Any manners, at all, are enough in this place. Now, get out of here, find those two losers outside and I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Oh, and don't forget to find a song to audition with for glee club tomorrow. Pick a showstopper and make it sound _fantastic_. I want Rachel Berry quaking in her ridiculously sensible shoes when she sees what my boy Blaine can do." My cheeks start to heat up at her compliments and when she notices she grins over at me.

"I'll make it good." I promise quietly before I add earnestly, "Thank you, Tana."

She just waves my manners away and hugs me quickly before she turns and walks away from me. I watch her go, following her with my eyes until she turns the corner and completely vanishes out of sight. Leaving me utterly alone; with nothing but the bright smile on my face. I can't wait to get home now. I can't wait to see Kurt. I can't wait to tell him that his friends are beautiful, gorgeous people.

I'm about to turn around and walk out of the door when _he_ walks out of a classroom, barely a few feet away from me, and I completely freeze.

David Karofsky is looking right at me.

My first instinct is to flee. My first instinct is to run and find Puck and Finn and go straight home but my legs don't seem to agree with that plan because I can't even move them. And the fact that the last person in sight has just vanished around the corner makes me feel even worse about everything. This _is_ the boy who called me 'wrong' and 'disgusting' and a 'faggot' today. This _is_ the boy who let his friends bully me and then joined in. This _is_ the boy who chased Kurt out of this school after threatening his life and forcing a kiss from him. I have good reason to be scared of him, I have good reason to be afraid of what he could do to me. But I still feel a little bit stupid.

I don't know if he sees the smile slip off my face and hit the floor like a ton of bricks but as soon as he takes an unsure step forward I flinch and he _does_ see that. I know he does because it stops him dead for a moment before he starts moving again and my heart starts racing - pounding erratically and painfully inside of my chest. Anxiety surfacing.

"_Please_-" I whisper quietly, begging him to leave me alone. And I honestly expect him to ignore me but he doesn't; he does something I didn't expect instead - he takes a huge and obvious step backwards.

My breath catches in my throat.

"I wont hurt you." He says then, incredibly carefully, his hands outstretching slowly in front of him like a peace offering, and I close my eyes for a second to wonder if I look as scared as I feel. I think I must. I must for him to say those words so softly to me. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. I wonder if he sees what my father did to me. I wonder if he can tell how easily I let myself get knocked around. I wonder if he knows how much it hurt. I wonder if he can see that I'm still working on being okay. I wonder if he knows what he has done to me. I wonder if he realises how pointless his words are. I wonder if he knows that they're far too little and far too late.

"But you've already hurt me." I whisper in a rush, cringing when I realise that I've said it out loud. I let my eyes flutter open then and my gaze settle on the floor - angled just right, so I can see his feet, so I can see if he moves.

"I'm sorry, Blaine." he says quietly and I suddenly feel completely nauseous. Because he's, what, _apologising_ to me now? He feels sorry that he made me cry? That he called Puck a 'queer' because he's my friend? Because he chased the boy I love away after sexually assaulting him? What _exactly_ is David Karofsky sorry for? There's quite a list.

"You're sorry?" I repeat somewhat robotically in shock, one of my hands wrapping itself tightly around my bag's strap. Squeezing at it harshly until my knuckles start to turn white. A number of twisting emotions stirring bitterly inside of me.

"Yes." He says quietly and when I chance looking up at him, I almost feel bad for him because he looks so genuinely unhappy. _Almost._

"Why?" I whisper in complete disbelief.

"I'm just- I'm so, _so_ sorry, Blaine." He starts then, his voice full of tearful emotion, and then in an incredibly unsteady voice - which makes me look up from the floor- he adds, "Every time I hurt you… I hurt me. And I know that doesn't make it okay, or forgivable, or right.. but I just-" His face starts to fall now and I don't know how I'm supposed to handle this. I don't know how to watch him fall apart and do nothing. But I have to. I have to do this for me and I have to do this for Kurt. Because what he did is wrong.

"You stole Kurt's first kiss, Karofsky, did you know that? Do you even _care_?" I say harshly and he just nods, his eyes filled to the brim with tears as his lips start to quiver. The lips that have kissed Kurt's. It's horrible and it's painful and it's horrendous but I can't stop myself from talking. Not now I realise that he's too upset to actually hurt me. Maybe that makes me a bad person, or maybe I'm just being selfish - just for a minute - but I don't regret it. I'm looking out for Kurt and I'm looking out for myself.

"You threatened to _kill _him." I spit, as bitter memories and overwhelming feelings of sadness and disgust flood me, "Do you even understand what that _means_ or do you just say stuff for the sake of saying it? He thought you were _literally_ going to kill him. He was absolutely _terrified_ that you'd catch him at the top of a flight of stairs, or be alone with him in the locker room, or bump into him in an empty classroom. He thought you were going to put him into the ground, David, right next to his dead mother. Right next to my dead mother. Why would you make him think that? Do you even _know_ what you've done to him? Do you have _any_ idea what you're _doing_? Or how long it took for him to feel _safe_ again?" I finish bitterly.

"I'm so sorry. I never meant that. I never meant it. I would never have- I'm _sorry_." he repeats and I just shake my head.

"You called me a faggot today, you're not _that_ sorry." I remind him, but my voice is starting to shake a little now. My spontaneous bravado is crumbling.

"Blaine-" he whispers.

"I just don't- why do you _hate _me so much? Why do you _hate_ Kurt? Why do you _hate_ yourself? Why do you want to _hurt _everyone so badly?" I ask, my anger fading back into utter desperation. My heart sinks down into my stomach.

"I'm scared." He whispers morosely and I close my eyes as emotion floods my body and his voice completely breaks, "I'm just so _scared_ all the time."

"I know you are." I whisper quickly, "God. _I know you are _- but you have to stop this. You have to stop this or your hate will grow and grow and grow and you wont have control over it anymore." I offer sadly, "Look at you, David, you look so unhappy. Why are you doing this to yourself? You're worth so much more than this. You don't have to beat yourself up so hard. You don't have to hurt yourself like this. You don't have to charge around hurting other people and insulting yourself like it doesn't even matter. Like _you_ don't even matter. Someone very, very important to me once told me that I mattered - that I was worth something more than _nothing_ and do you know what? _You_ matter too. You matter just as much as I do and you shouldn't be doing this. I know that you know that. Just like I know that you understand that falling in love with another boy isn't wrong. It doesn't make you _disgusting_, it makes you human, David, and you don't have to be scared of that. You don't have to be scared of love." An awful sobs leaves his throat then and echoes around the hall; I have to bite my bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

"I don't want to be like this. I _hate_ it." he cries helplessly and I look at him properly - at the pleading in his eyes, at the tears slipping down his face.

"I can't - I'm sorry. I can't feel sorry for you." I say as my eyes start to sting.

"I don't want you to." He whispers sadly, "Not after the things I've done to you and Kurt."

"Can you just leave me alone?" I ask quietly and he nods.

"I won't come near you again." He promises wiping a hand over his wet cheeks.

"Thank you." I offer.

"Tell Kurt-" he starts and I shake my head.

"No. You don't get to do that. I'm so sorry that you feel so bad about yourself and I hope, more than _anything_, that you can find happiness in your life. I hope you can accept yourself, I hope you can find a perfect guy to love and be loved by, because there's nothing wrong with you and you deserve to have that, but I will not be talking to Kurt about this." I finish as a tear slips down my face, "I'm not making the boy I love hurt again. I'm sorry."

"No, I understand. I'm so sorry, Blaine." He says again, his shoulders shaking in erratic shudders and then he walks away from me. Just like that. Leaving me completely perplexed in the hallway.

By the time I've pulled myself together, and I eventually walk outside, Finn and Puck are leaning against Finn's car. And if they can tell that I've been upset they don't say anything about it, which I'm very grateful for. Though, Puck's eyes do linger a little longer than necessary on my face before he talks to me.

"Are you ready to head home?" He asks.

"Yeah. Take me home." I say wistfully and that sentence has never felt more natural than it does as I climb into the car and buckle up next to Puck. Finn flicking the radio on for us to listen to as he starts the engine; Puck slipping his hand across the backseat and letting me hold on to it, all the way home. 

o~o~o

We're sat in the living room of the Hummel-Hudson household, squashed together on the sofa like sardines and utterly engrossed in an episode of Deadliest Catch, when Kurt comes home much earlier than expected. I thought he was Burt at first, home early from the garage, but as soon I heard the unmistakable sound of Kurt's bag hitting the floor I glanced up at the clock in complete confusion and started to worry. It's Thursday. Kurt shouldn't be home for another two hours today and yet, here he is, making me nervous. I look to Puck and then to Finn but they don't even seem to recognise that this is odd - or that it's Kurt for that matter - and I'm about to say something to them when the door creaks open and he slips into the room.

"Kurt?" I say quickly, trying to absorb him with my eyes. Searching him swiftly for something, anything, that can explain what's happening right now, but he looks fine, in fact, he looks perfect. Like hasn't just spent hours driving home, like there's nothing wrong with him at all. Which only makes the whole situation even more confusing.

"Hi." He says cheerfully and I frown. What's going on?

"Are you okay?" I ask quickly, concern no doubt covering my face completely as I squeeze myself from between his brother and his brother's best friend and I stand up. Moving towards him somewhat cautiously - my sock covered feet sliding softly across the floor.

"I'm fine, Blaine." Kurt says with a reassuringly soft smile.

"But your home early." I whisper aloud, trying to explain away my concern.

"I didn't go to Warbler practice today, that's all." Kurt offers then, like it's the simplest thing in the world, and I'm suddenly very aware that Puck and Finn are watching us.

"Has something happened?" I ask then, much quieter, searching his face, but he just tilts his head a little - something akin to amusement dancing quickly across his features.

"Yes." He says and for a second my eyes are absolutely huge but then he adds, "My best friend in the _whole universe_ started a new school today and I wanted to make sure he was okay." And relief instantly washes over me. Well, it does until I start to feel impossibly guilty because I know that attending every single Warbler meeting is essential.

"Kurt," I start, my forehead wrinkling as I continue on, "You shouldn't have missed practice for me. Those meetings are important."

"It's fine, Blaine. I cleared it with Wes and everything. Scout's honour." He offers sweetly, jutting a hand out for me to take - a soft smile tugging his pink, velveteen lips apart and upwards.

"You were never a scout, Kurt." I say lightly, as I take his hand in mine. My eyes fluttering shut as our fingers entwine.

It feels perfect.

It feels like home.

"But you _were_ a cheerleader." I smile and his almond eyes widen. 

o~o~o


	24. Chapter 24

**Note:** Wow, look, an update! Is anyone still reading this? :P No, but really, I'm sorry. More coming soon! :D

* * *

><p>o~o~o<p>

Kurt looks completely mortified as he leads me away from the living room - his hand clutching mine so tightly as he tugs me across the entire length of hallway - away from the mischievous glint in Puck's eyes and away from the lopsided grin on his brother's face. It's as if he's suddenly terrified that they'll tell me something awful about his former life as a cheerio - something akin to pulling out a bunch of embarrassing baby pictures or making him relive the times he's done something horrifically un-Kurt. And while there's certainly a part of me that's incredibly amused by his genuinely horrified reaction, there's a much larger part of me that feels incredibly guilty about it all. Especially when I notice the violent blush that's flooding across his face and rushing down, over the tight tendons of his long neck.

His normally porcelain skin now tinted with bold smears of warm pink and smattered with vibrant dashes of hot red. All of which seem to accumulate and appear most vibrantly when dashed about his cheekbones. Making him look like a mocking caricature of those old German figurines. I'm sure you know the ones, the ones that little old ladies seem to have lined up on their shelves and on their window sills and on their fireplaces and on any available, flat surface. Stoically staring back at the women all day, with their little umbrellas and their wrinkled aprons, and those bewildering expression on their little faces that are neither here nor there. They just stare and stare and stare - either at each other or just out at the world - with their wide, doe eyes and obvious red cheeks.

Only seconds later I'm pulled away from my drifting thoughts of antique figurines, when Kurt juts an arm out in front of himself and pushes the bedroom door open with so much _force_ that it hits the wall behind it with a loud, deep thud. Kurt and I flinch out of instinct, of course we do, because the sound of it resonating around us is so unexpectedly shocking. Though, that alone tells me that Kurt hadn't meant to push it _quite_ so hard. It had obviously been an accident brought about by his hast to herd me away from our friends and our - if you'd prefer - peculiar family. Where blood ties don't seem to carry too much weight when compared to the individual needs of a person to belong to something beyond his means. Here, it's our shared experiences and our love for one another which bonds us, keeps us together, and makes us brothers.

Kurt looks right at me then, just for a moment, despite his fiery blush, and I know it's because of the unexpected bang. That's why he's letting his wide, perceptive eyes fall over my face like he is. That's why he's taking me in so damn carefully as he goes. It's because, despite the fact that I've embarrassed him terribly, he's still incredibly worried about me. He's my family.

He frowns just a little then, before he offers me a silent, tight lipped smile that says 'sorry' all by itself. And, in a way, that makes everything seem so much worse because I can see his flushed face properly now and I think that, really, I'm the one who needs to say sorry because I never meant for him to feel so obviously uncomfortable. But before I can even begin to form the right words in my head, Kurt's ushering us both over the threshold of his - _our_ - bedroom and flicking the lock on the door closed. Plunging us into darkness.

I start walking down the stairs then, before Kurt even has time to turn on the light, but I'm taking it carefully - one step at a time. My palm pressed flat against the cold wall in a bid to steady myself, focusing intently on the placement of my feet so that I don't take a nasty tumble into the darkness and down the stairs. Because I've done that before and it _hurts_. A lot. I wonder then, if Kurt's ever fallen down the stairs - if it had been a accident or if he'd been pushed, just like he feared Karofsky might do. And it's then that I suddenly realise that I can't hear him following behind me.

I spin around cautiously, high on the balls of my feet - just as Kurt flicks the light on - and I'm looking up at him as he appears before me, an apology already forming on my lips. But he's standing so tall and so resolute on that top step - his hands planted so firmly on his hips and his disposition completely changing before me - that it stops any thought of apology dead. And I'm left feeling like I'm watching a caterpillar's metamorphosis into a strong, colourful butterfly, stage by stage, in fast-forward. And even though he hasn't looked down to see me watching him, I know that he must feel my gaze because he looks right at me too then - the shock in his eyes melting away and transforming into something else entirely - a subtle blend of curiosity with perhaps a hint of amusement and suspicion. My heart skips a beat. He looks so determined; so alive.

"Santana." he says then; a faded hint of triumph present in his ever curious voice, "Blaine, did she tell you that? Wait. You don't even have to answer that question because I know her, she's a Latina version of Eve Harrington. I bet she slipped that right into your conversation, didn't she? 'Oh, by the way, Blaine. Did you know that Kurt used to be a cheerleader?' _No._ God, no, we're not even talking about this. No way. Not a chance. That's what she wants. In fact, we're going to pretend you never, _ever_ heard her say that." Kurt rambles rather adorably, his blush fading much more noticeably as he talks, "It was a dark time in my life, Blaine. I was very confused - I mean, I must have been, right? That uniform wasn't even a pure blend. Ugh. _No_. Let's just try and forget about this altogether, shall we? Let's just pack it away in a box, in a box, in a box, in another box, at the bottom of the ocean and leave it there. Yes? I think so." Kurt finishes casually, trying to sound so firm and fixed, even though his wide eyes and his flustered voice betray him horrifically. I just smile up at him.

"Kurt," I begin gravely, his breath audibly catching in his throat as I build the anticipation teasingly, leaving a sufficiently lengthy gap before I continue, "I promise. I wont mention it again. My lips are sealed, look. Scout's honour." I offer in surrender, running my pressed fingertips across my mouth in a swift zipping motion. He just rolls his eyes at that and huffs dramatically, wiping his brow like he's centre stage in a one-man play in the middle of a desert, before he smiles warmly at me - a wide, honest, toothy grin - the kind that comes so naturally from him. And then he sighs a little, in relief.

"Good. _Good_. Now," Kurt starts; trying desperately to change the topic, "Why don't you tell me all about your first day at school? That _is_ the reason I came home early, after all. Oh, and don't leave the important things out, I _know_ McKinley, remember? If you paint an idyllic picture of a perfect day I'll know you're lying through you teeth, Blaine Anderson. Especially if you mention capable teachers, caring quarterbacks, rays of sunshine and double rainbows." Kurt instructs as we descend the stairs together. Practically arm in arm before we fall onto the sofa and sink into the soft cushions that Kurt re-scatters habitually every morning.

"Well," I begin, trying to keep my tone light - trying not to worry him, "Aside from the butterflies and the guy with the harp that kept following me around at day, there's really not that much to tell you. Although, the unicorn that served me lunch was a little touchy." I laugh lightly, but it's nowhere near as convincing as I'd hoped for, so I shift a little instead. Kurt just arches one of his perfect eyebrows in response.

"Okay, so something _did _happen?" he asks quietly. His smile slipping a little.

"Kurt." I start pointlessly.

"Blaine, come on. This is _me_ you're talking to." he offers, almost shyly.

"Look, Kurt, I did get a little upset today. But it's nothing to worry about. Really. Puck handled it. It's over." I offer weakly. Hoping he'll just leave it alone, but he wont, of course he wont, I wouldn't either. So, I look on rather helplessly as his face falls into a heavy set frown. And I wonder if he knows how many creases that expression draws on his face and if he'd even care - but I don't think he would. Not now. So I watch, with my own frown, as his mouth opens and closes and he tries to get his words to come out.

"Blaine, did they hurt you?" he asks eventually, his tone so careful, as his hand reaches out towards me, "You can tell me if they did. It'll be okay, I promise." He reassures me.

I can feel a lump forming in my throat then. As I look into the tempest that lies just behind his eyes. The storm of emotions that's trapped just below the surface.

"No, _no_. God, Kurt, no, it's nothing like that." I say quickly and I feel him press his palm against my thigh regardless, before he shuffles a little closer to me.

"Then what happened, sweetheart?" He continues cautiously, and oh-so-carefully, and my heart starts to pound so hard inside of my chest as he whispers, "Because something _did_ happen, Blaine. I know you. You're a part of me; I can feel it."

"Kurt." I start desperately, "They were just.. saying things. About me, about you. I got a little upset about it but I'm okay now, I promise. And I really did have a wonderful afternoon." I offer, something like darkness stirring in the pit of my stomach as I remember my encounter with Karofsky. Because I really had been having a wonderful afternoon until Kurt's old tormenter had tried to _apologise_ to me. No.

"Blaine.." Kurt breathes out then, in a tone so soft it could get lost in a soft summer breeze.

"Kurt?" I reply in confusion and out of the blue he looks so, so sad.

"I'm so sorry." He mutters and I frown at him again.

"Kurt, don't be silly." I say quickly, laying my hand over his and giving his fingers a squeeze, "Whatever you're thinking you need to stop it."

"No, Blaine. If they hadn't known that you're my friend they would've-"

"What, Kurt? Insulted me a little less. Really, it was going to happen anyway, look at me. But it's done now. I'm still alive. I'm still breathing. No one's dead. It's over." I say with a fake smile.

"You shouldn't trivialise this." Kurt says then, like he has a bad taste in his mouth, "You shouldn't make _fun_ of it."

"I'm not making… God, no. Kurt, I didn't mean it like that." I offer, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty, "I'm sorry."

"I just want you to be okay." He whispers then, into the silent room that surrounds us.

"I know you do. I _know_. But I'm fine, I promise. And I made a whole bunch of new friends that I'd rather talk about." I offer and I let that linger between us for a while but Kurt looks so unsure about what to say next that I add, "Kurt, I love you, you know that I do, but I can't have this conversation with you. Not tonight. You know?" I try honestly and then he pauses for a moment, searching my eyes before he tilts his head a little and starts to talk again.

"I knew they'd love you." he starts quietly, "But you really ought to know that I love you so much more than all of them put together." Kurt says, his smile growing, he's visibly casting away his fears and trusting that I know what I need right now and I'm so grateful for that. For his unwavering belief in me and for empowering me like he always does; by doing something as simple as giving me a choice.

"There is something." I say then, "I could use your help on it actually."

"Of course. Anything." he says, a genuine smile tugging at the soft corners of his loving mouth. Oh, God, that beautiful, giving mouth of his.

"I'm auditioning for glee club tomorrow afternoon," I say, "Your Latina Eve Harrington's idea, of course, and I think I have the _perfect _song but I'd like to play it for you first, just in case it's too much. It's about us, Kurt, it's about what we are, and I don't want to completely embarrass myself in front of our friends." I confess in a hurry. My cheeks warming suddenly.

"_Our friends_." Kurt repeats quietly. A knowing smile on his face.

"Yeah." I grin and nothing can tarnish the warm feeling that floats into my chest and makes itself at home.

o~o~o

It's almost an hour later when I finally turn Kurt's iPod off, gather the pieces of paper that I've scattered haphazardly around me and rise up from the floor - clutching the pencil that I've been using firmly between my teeth. Then tucking the aforementioned papers securely under my arm as I use my hands to wrap the cord tightly around the iPod and push it into my back pocket. Sauntering over to the keyboard that sits majestically at the foot of our bed - Kurt's dresser chair already pulled up to it - and I begin to lay the handwritten sheets of music across the top. Carefully overlapping the pieces of paper to make sure that I can see everything that I'll need to. Then, when I'm satisfied, I finally look up and I notice that Kurt's watching me from behind his History textbook.

"You're ready?" he asks rhetorically. Pushing a blank piece of paper in between the pages of the textbook before he abandons it altogether on my pillow and scoots towards the edge of the bed. Folding his legs underneath his body. Excited anticipation covering his features. And I wonder if it's possible for someone to have as much enthusiasm for something that somebody else loves, just because they love them. I think it must be, judging by the look on Kurt's face.

"Yes, I'm ready. No laughing though, okay?" I urge earnestly as I take a seat and he smiles.

"Why would I laugh? It's in my collection, Blaine. It's obviously wonderful." he reasons playfully.

"I sure hope it is!" I laugh, "So, anyway, here's to us.. and to less than perfect days." I toast as I turn the keyboard on.

"Like today?" Kurt asks then as the display screen lights up.

"Exactly like today." I finish and then I flex my fingers outwards and ghost them over the keys, pressing them down lightly and letting the soft notes hit me. It's then that a very specific feeling washes over me. I imagine it's the same feeling that artists get when they're staring at a blank canvas with a head full of ideas and a studio filled with the aroma of new paint, or the rush that nurses and doctors and paramedics must feel when they manage to save the life of a person who's already given up on and considered as good as dead, or that warm feeling that a writer must have when they pick up a pen and write down a simple idea which they just know will blossom into a masterful story that's theirs alone to tell. This is all of that to me and so much more, this is that one thing that I'm just _meant_ to do.  
>This is who I am. This is how I can define myself. 'Blaine Anderson, lover and creator of music.' 'Blaine Anderson, composer.' 'Blaine Anderson, who feels at home when melodies rush out of his body and pour out of his fingertips.' 'Blaine Anderson, the boy who can give music to the world.' And that feels so, so good. That feels so much better than 'Blaine Anderson, the boy who was smothered by fear.' and 'Blaine Anderson, trapped.' Because now I'm almost certainly, 'Blaine Anderson, who has discovered his self worth.' and 'Blaine Anderson, alive.'<p>

I smile softly to myself then, and reach out to the keyboard with a brand new sense of self and purpose.

"Wait." Kurt says suddenly, stopping me, his hand touching my arm ever so lightly, his soft fingertips almost dancing across my skin, "Can I join in?"

"Of course you can." I say, like him not joining in would be a higher treason than high treason

.  
>He takes his hand back then, nods once and closes his eyes. Listening as I begin to play the opening melody that I know he knows oh so well. His brow creased up tightly in concentration. He's so beautiful. And I'm barely a few bars into it when he gasps rather loudly and opens his eyes. Which is very convenient, I think, because now he's just in time to watch me sing to him. So, I open my mouth and I let it come out…<p>_ When the rain is blowing in your face, __and the whole world is on your case, __I could offer you a warm embrace __to make you feel my love._ _When the evening shadows and the stars appear, __and there is no one there to dry your tears, __I could hold you for a million years __to make you feel my love. _

I chance a glance up at him then and there's an expression on Kurt's face that I've never ever seen before. Overwhelmed. That's how he looks. So, I offer him a shy smile and he smiles right back at me and then suddenly it's written all over his face. Everything that he feels. His beautiful eyes so alive and so bright under the artificial light. And then he opens his mouth and he sings it out with me…

_ I know you haven't made your mind up yet, __but I would never do you wrong. __I've known it from the moment that we met, __no doubt in my mind where you belong. _

Our eyes are still fixed firmly as I continue on alone. Kurt's heart-melting smile almost dragging my eyes downwards but I'm too lost for that. I'm far too lost in his eyes to get distracted by anything else. Besides, his eyes are smiling enough. Shining enough. Telling me enough. So, I offer him a bashful smile, then I fill my lungs and I sing. I sing. I sing. I sing. To him. For him. Always for him..

_ Kurt, I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue, __I'd go crawling down the avenue. __No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do __to make you feel my love. _

Then, I play the melody that I've laid out before me and I look up at Kurt when I can. He's wiping at his eyes with back of his hand. A watery smile plastered on his face. And when he catches my gaze once more, he just shakes his head in something a kin to wonder and whispers, _"Blaine._" Like it's everything that he's ever wanted to say to me and in a way it is.  
>I shrug innocently in reply, with an honest-to-God smile on my face, and I nod for him to join in and finish the song with me. We should end this together. My fingers still pressing rhythmically against the cold keys as he nods back at me. I take a moment then, to glance over the last sheet of paper. Determined to remember everything so I can look at him. So I can sing to him. Only him. Always him. And I do. Our voices carrying the weight of the words together. Loud and harmonious and so, so <em>perfect.<em>

_The storms are raging on the rolling sea __and on the highway of regret. __Though winds of change are blowing wild and free, __you ain't seen nothing like me yet._ _I could make you happy, make your dreams come true. __Nothing that I wouldn't do. __Go to the ends of the Earth for you, __to make you feel my love. _

I finish with a fluttering flourish and my fingers slide off the keyboard and into my lap. Then, when I look over at him, shyness suddenly possesses me. Kurt holds my gaze in silence for a while and then his brow furrows a little and he says, "That was absolutely perfect, Blaine."

"It's not too much?" I ask quietly, because I can almost hear the notes still echoing around the room and I don't want to displace them. Not yet. It's so peaceful. Kurt just shakes his head.

"New Directions don't know the meaning of 'too much', Blaine." He smiles supportively, "You'll be fine."

"And it wasn't too much.. for you?" I ask cautiously.

"You made me cry, Blaine. It was _perfectly_ too much." He smiles, reaching a hand out across the keyboard, the base of his wrist pressing against the keys and releasing a small burst of sound. I lift my hand up to meet his and I lace our fingers together.

"I never want to let you go, Kurt." I offer then, the sincerity of it making my heart pound.

"Blaine, I'm never saying goodbye to you." He whispers back in reply, his index finger brushing gently over the top of my hand.

"Just a little while longer." I mutter and he nods. Words unspoken, passing between us.

"I'm not going anywhere, Blaine. There's no need to rush yourself. Not for me." He smiles kindly and I smile right back at him because he understands and that in itself brings me a step closer to feeling okay, to feeling like the person I've lost and the person I want to be.

"I wouldn't dare." I offer playfully and then, "Kurt, will you lie with me for a while?"

"Of course I will." He says, like it's nothing. Not letting go of my hand as I stand and walk around the bed. Only releasing his hold on me to move his textbook so I can lie down. While he puts it on the floor I slide down onto my side. Feeling cold until he slips closer behind me and wraps one of his arms around my waist. His body matching the shape of mine perfectly, his head sharing my pillow, his cheek nuzzled against my cheek. I reach up and thread my fingers through the hand which lays against my stomach and at some point, not so far away, I fall asleep half-wrapped in Kurt Hummel.

o~o~o

After that, Friday passes by in a blur. It's an inevitable mix of gracious conversation, encouraged laughter and optimistic smiles. And all of it is wrapped up so neatly by my audition for glee club. An audition which leaves me half crying when I turn around at the end of my performance and look at my peers. They're all looking right at me - my fingers still half-pressed against the smooth keys - and that's when I realise that their faces are nothing but kind, welcoming smiles and damp, teary eyes and I know then that the choir room is a safe place too.

So, I smile over at Puck and Finn and they're both looking at me so damn proudly that I can actually feel my insides flood with warmth. Then Puck starts wolf-whistling, of course he does, and I roll my eyes because _only Puck._ And Mike has this look on his face that's filled with so much delight that my eyes actually start to fill and Tina smiles so brightly at me from her spot next to him. And then I look over at Santana, who has her arm wrapped tightly around a smiling Brittany and I follow her gaze to Rachel - who has mascara absolutely running down her face and her mouth hanging half-open. And then, finally, I look at Quinn and Mercedes and Artie and Sam and it's clear that they want me to stay too. They even _ask_ me to stay. And I will stay, of course I will, because these people understand me and the importance of music and, well, it feels a lot like living is supposed to.

When we get home, after celebratory hot chocolates - courtesy of Finn - my Friday night with Kurt is just as perfect as my audition for Glee Club. Puck and Finn come downstairs for a while to play video games. While I help Kurt with his latest Fashion and Textiles project - both of us sat with crossed legs on the bed. I stitch and hem to the best of my abilities, the constant sound of video game gunfire providing a rather interesting soundtrack, and when I sew something wrong Kurt doesn't say anything about it, he just smiles and unpicks my stitches when he thinks I'm not paying attention. In fact, he's been smiling at me all night, especially since Puck told him that I'd rendered Rachel Berry speechless. Because apparently that's something to be particularly proud of. I'm honestly not too sure about that but Kurt's proud of me anyway and that feels wonderful. I want him to be proud of me - it makes me feel like less of an idiot for feeling so proud of myself.

We exist that way for a few hours more, stitching and talking, before we move over to the sofa. Where we sink into Kurt's scattered cushions and we watch Finn and Puck's virtual egos take on digital war veterans. Kurt's arm automatically linking through mine. They must notice the movement but they don't say anything about it. And when they eventually tire of fighting their wars they leave us alone. So, Kurt and I talk for a while, about everything and nothing at all, until we get ready for bed. And it's then that the night dissolves into pyjama clad hand-holding and a marathon of old MGM musical movies. Both Kurt and I drifting soundly to sleep somewhere near the end of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, our heads pressed together, just like our hands.

o~o~o

There are a great number of things that I notice when I wake up on the sofa, feeling a little stiff but otherwise content. Firstly, I notice that one of Kurt's warm arms is slung across my waist and that his head is propped up, incredibly precariously, on my shoulder. Secondly, I notice that the pure cotton sheet that we pulled from Kurt's bed in a hurry last night - we were halfway through Anchors Aweigh when we started feeling cold - is tangled loosely around my legs and feet. And, thirdly, I notice that the deep, sumptuous scent that Kurt wears by day is now nothing more than a faded fragrance - lost somewhere in the passing of time. I miss the subtle strength of it at first, because it's so _him_, but I don't miss it for long. Once I've managed to squeeze myself from under Kurt without waking him - quite the feat, I assure you - I realise that my pyjama shirt smells just like him. I smell like Kurt. I walk to the bathroom with the biggest smile on my face.

While I'm brushing my teeth I decide that it'd be a nice gesture if I made Kurt breakfast for a change. I know he likes to do it; that he likes to cook for people. But just this once, just on this one, cold Saturday morning, I'm going to make him breakfast instead. I'm not the greatest chef in the world - I can usually be found chopping vegetables or laying plates or helping out with general tasks such as washing up - but I've watched Kurt make his pancakes enough times to know what to do and how to do it. Vaguely.

I don't bother getting dressed because I'm trying to be as quiet as possible and, well, I just assume that no one will be upstairs at 7am on a Saturday. Carole worked a night shift, so, she'll have just gotten into bed. Finn and Puck never get up early on Saturdays - assuming Puck didn't go home. In which case, Finn could be around. And Burt mentioned over dinner last night that he was going to work extra early so he could be done by lunch. So, really, I should be alone up there. But, say I'm not, what's the worst that can happen. They get a glance of my curly hair? Because they've seen that. They see me in my pyjamas? They've all seen that too. Really, I have nothing to lose.

So, I creep past a sleeping Kurt, tip-toe up the darkened stairs and open the fastened lock on the door - so slowly that it must look completely ridiculous. Then I slip through the door, as soon as it's open enough for me to fit through, and I spend a good thirty seconds slowly easing the door closed before I head straight into the kitchen.

Only stopping once, just outside the kitchen door, to listen for the television. I hear nothing though, not a sound, so, it's pretty safe for me to assume that Finn's still in bed and that Puck stayed over last night. And that he's still asleep on the mattress that they store under Finn's bed by day because Burt doesn't like the idea of Puck sleeping on the floor night after night, after night. No matter how young and health his bones and muscles are.

I'm feeling quite optimistic about cooking breakfast, until I lay my eyes on the cooker and then I start to panic. Because, now that I'm really thinking about it, I have _no_ idea where to start. Or about the actual measurements needed for any of the ingredients. Or even which ingredients definitely constitute as 'healthy' or 'unhealthy'. And I don't want to mess this up. I want to get this right. So, I take a moment to think.

I'm standing in the middle of the kitchen, with my hands planted loosely on my hips, glancing between the pans next to the cooker and the cupboard stuffed with ingredients, when I notice it. The notebook. That little pink and gold notebook that Kurt flicks through sometimes, searching for culinary answers before he returns it to the shelf, next to the potted sunflower, and carries on with his cooking. Maybe that can help me.

So, I move forward automatically, desperate for guidance, my socked feet sliding easily over the floor as I go, reaching out to the notebook with searching fingertips. Laying it down on the counter as soon as it's in my possession.  
>It's then that I notice a small, white label in the bottom, right hand corner. The edges of it curled up. The stickiness almost gone. It's old, but the label is still visible and harbouring handwritten letters that are both incredibly faded and incredibly neat. It takes a while longer, before I realise that it says, 'Lizzie's secret recipes.'<p>

I pull my hands away from it then, like my fingertips are on fire and I take a step backwards. This is _hers_. This is Mrs Hummel's old notebook. I shouldn't be looking at this, I shouldn't have touched it, it has absolutely nothing to do with me. But I look at it for a while anyway, from afar at least. Wondering what I can do with it. Wondering what I _should_ do with it.

I could probably cancel my plans to make breakfast. Help might not lie in that book anyway. And then I could wait for Kurt to wake up and help him make breakfast instead. It's not like he knows that I'd planned to make him breakfast anyway. But, at the same time, I've set my heart on it now. I just can't riffle through that notebook. I just can't. Kurt hasn't shared enough of that part of his life with me. I'd feel like an intruder, trampling on the memories of his mother. I mean, this could be one of the very few things that Kurt has of his mothers. I know that I would give anything to have something of my mom's and that I'd hate for people to just do what they pleased with it. I don't quite know what to do for the best. So, I stare at it, I stare and stare and stare and I wonder. Hoping it will give me an answer and then..

"It's pretty sure it's not cursed, Blaine" A clear, calm voice states from somewhere behind me. I know exactly who it is, as soon as the depth of the voice startles me, but I jump anyway. And when I turn around Burt is standing in the doorway. A dark blue toolbox in his hand and a soft smile on his face.

"I- I was- I was just-" I stutter instinctively, trying to explain myself before my brain is ready, Burt just laughs. It's the kind of laugh you wouldn't imagine could come out of a man like Burt if you didn't know him any better. But I do know him better; so, I can't help but smile back at him. Even if it is rather timid.

"What are you doing in here, son?" he asks then and I just shrug. Feeling at little unsure, a little caught in the act. A little uncertain because this is new territory.

"I just thought I'd make breakfast for Kurt but I don't know how to and then I saw that notebook. Kurt's always flicking through it, so, I just assumed that maybe it was Kurt's but it's clearly not.." I ramble quickly and then Burt steps into the kitchen, places his toolbox on the table and walks over to the notebook. Running his thumb over the cover of it before he looks right at me. His smile is still there. He's not mad. Not at all.

"It's Elizabeth's." He confirms, "She used to write all of the best recipes in it - for easy use mostly. But also because Kurt loved to cook - even as a kid. It was their thing, you know? She'd leave new recipes in there, on loose scraps of paper, and if they liked it enough they'd copy it into this book. He still does it. Adds new things. Keeps it going. Carole does it too. That's how I knew he was okay with me and Carole. One day they were baking together and they used one of her recipes and Kurt liked it so much that he let her write it in here. That's when I knew it was okay. That we were okay." Burt shares, a fond smile resting on his lips.

"I'm sorry. I won't touch it again." I apologise but Burt just rolls his eyes.

"Blaine, come on. It's just a book. Yeah, it has special attachments to Kurt and this family. But, remember, you're a part of this family too, kid." he offers gently.

"I'm sure Finn hasn't touched it and he's _actually_ a relative." I offer but Burt just shakes his head. One of his large, comforting hands reaching out and rubbing reassuringly over my shoulder. The tension starts to fall out of my body.

"So are you, Blaine. You know that. You're stuck with me for life, buddy. Best get used to that idea! And, yes, Finn has touched it. Sometimes Kurt will have him in here just flicking pages if he's got his hands full. I mean, if you don't want to look in here, if you're waiting for Kurt to let you in one day, then I understand that. But I think we both know he'd probably let you look today if you wanted to. Don't underestimate how much you mean to us. You're an honorary Hummel-Hudson, Blaine." Burt explains earnestly and my cheeks start to flush.

"I know, I know, but I still can't look" I say eventually and then Burt just looks at the notebook for a while. Thinking, remembering, dreaming? Perhaps. But soon he's talking again.

"Okay, how about you do all the cooking and I'll hold onto the book? I'll tell you exactly what to do and you can do it? That way you'll know what to do and you haven't looked in here at all. How does that sound?" Burt offers generously, tapping the notebook, and my eyes widen.

"You don't have to do that. Besides, you have to work, Burt.." I state obviously and he just brushes it off. Like it's nothing.

"So, I'll miss an hour. So what? One of my boys needs my help, so I'm helping him. Are we doing this or what?" Burt asks enthusiastically and I just smile over at him. A huge, honest to god smile.

"Thank you." I mutter, reaching out and hugging him quickly, he laughs, lifting the notebook up off the counter and flicking through the pages. Stopping only a few sheets in.

"You're welcome. Now, let's cook up a storm, kiddo." he says before he starts to systematically list off all of the ingredients that I need and I fetch them from the cupboards. He doesn't even seem to mind when I have to ask him to repeat his instructions sometimes and I feel like I've truly achieved something when - half and hour later - there's a pile of healthy heart pancakes on one plate and a pile of chocolate non-healthy heart pancakes on another. The sweet scent of batter and chocolate absolutely filling the room. While, Burt and I have been getting to know one another much better. And I guess that's exactly how a dad bonds with his son. They talk, they laugh, they learn, they grow together. And I'm certainly feeling much more like his son by the end of it all.

It's only when Burt returns the notebook to the shelf and I turn to put the plates on the table that I notice Kurt standing in the doorway. Looking somewhat settled as he leans against the doorframe in his pyjamas. His head tilted to the side a fraction, a contented expression covering his face, his diamond eyes sparkling vibrantly in the light as he mouths, 'Hi'.

He's seen enough, that much is clear, and when Burt notices that he's there he proudly ushers him inside, "Kurt! Come on in and try our pancakes! And don't go easy on us, son. We can take it. What doesn't kill us, makes us stronger!"

And something happens then, something inside of me, and I'm absolutely certain that I have the greatest family in the world. It's enough for me to call Ellen after breakfast. It's enough for me to tell her that after our next scheduled appointment I don't think I'll need to see her again. It's enough for me to disconnect the call, turn to Kurt and unexpectedly press a lingering kiss against his soft, warm cheek. My smile stretching out over his porcelain skin, before I pull away with an audible 'mwah' and a head full to the brim with possibilities. And then my story isn't about carrying on, it isn't about surviving, not anymore, it's about living.

o~o~o


End file.
